


Caffrey Flashback

by penna_nomen



Series: Caffrey Conversation [5]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Birthday, Family, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 133,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penna_nomen/pseuds/penna_nomen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Case: Investigating a company that drugs & blackmails clients, Neal and Peter find a connection to Adler.</p>
<p>H/C: Neal's life hangs in the balance after he's injected with an overdose of the drug.<br/>Angst: Whose side is Kate on? Byron's funeral. Neal's repressed memories of abuse surface.<br/>Fluff: Loopy Neal. Snowball fight. Neal’s birthday party.<br/>Other: Neal meets Caffrey relatives & Sara Ellis. Romance blossoms between Neal’s aunt & Peter’s brother.<br/>February – March 2004 in the CC AU where Peter recruited Neal instead of arresting him<br/>Characters: Neal, Peter, Hughes, Jones, Mozzie, Kate, June, Byron, Sara, Neal's grandparents & aunt & cousins</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> White Collar and its characters are not mine. 
> 
> If you want to catch up on the other stories in this AU, they are: Caffrey Conversation (Peter recruits Neal), Choirboy Caffrey (a holiday-themed story, with Neal preparing to work for the FBI), By the Book (Neal’s first undercover assignment at the FBI), Caffrey Envoy (a shorter story where Neal meets a former babysitter and is reminded of his childhood exploits)
> 
> Although this story is part of a series, I want it to stand on its own. Therefore the first two chapters, in addition to introducing the case they need to solve, will also recap where Neal stands in the FBI and in his relationship to other characters.

**New York City, White Collar Division. Monday morning. February 16, 2004.**

As the morning briefing wrapped up, Agent Tricia Wiese mentioned it was Peter Burke’s two-month anniversary as leader of the White Collar Task Force. Peter reminded them it was also Neal Caffrey’s two-month anniversary as a consultant at the FBI. It was a good thing they liked each other, Neal realized, because if things worked out they would be celebrating these milestones together for a long time.

Many things had remained constant over the last two months. The coffee was still horrendous. Agent August Hitchum still hated Neal. Surveillance work was still tedious, and mortgage fraud cases were still the most boring thing ever invented.

But some things had changed for the better. Other than Hitchum, the team members had started to relax around Neal. They felt safe leaving their purses and wallets at their desks when he was around. They were willing to talk about vacation plans around him, without fear that he would burgle their homes as soon as they left town. And now Peter was making another show of trust. He had dismissed everyone from the briefing except for Neal and Jones and said, “Neal, after you traded your confession for immunity, I asked Jones to monitor the email addresses belonging to aliases. Now he’s going to turn that task over to you.”

Neal responded with an innocent smile he knew would annoy Peter. “You want to pay me to check my personal email?”

Peter didn’t roll his eyes, but Neal thought it took some effort. “I want you to let us know if anyone contacts one of your old aliases for illegal or suspicious purposes. This week, Jones will check those accounts with you and walk you through what he’s been doing. As of next week, it will be up to you to tell us if you’re getting messages we need to know about.”

Neal had suspected almost from the beginning that Peter had assigned Jones to monitor him, but this was the first time Peter had admitted it. Even though Neal was certain Jones was checking up on him in other ways, it was satisfying to know that his good behavior recently was being noticed and rewarded. He hoped this would become a trend, because there were other restrictions he wanted to see lifted.

Peter went back to his office, while Jones and Neal remained in the conference room to check the email accounts. Steve Tabernacle typically received porn; Neal had made sure of it as an act of rebellion when he realized the FBI was checking his mail. Gary Rydell received offers from high-end car dealers, insurance companies, and international travel agencies.

“Nick Halden gets the most mail,” Jones noted as they logged into that account.

“Five months of working for Vincent Adler under that name is the longest con I ever pulled. I made a lot of connections there before the company folded. Nick was a likable guy.” A quick glance showed there were no messages from Kate. There hadn’t been for quite a while, but he still had hope.

Jones opened a message from Highbury Professional Connections. “I’ve heard of these guys. It’s the first time I’ve seen them express an interest in Halden.”

“They sent an invitation right after Thanksgiving, but I ignored it,” Neal said. “They sounded legit, but if you’re interested in them, there must be something nefarious I wasn’t aware of.”

“Nothing we could prove. Last summer a woman reported her husband was being blackmailed by Highbury. We looked into it, saw that most members pay about 100 bucks per month for membership, but a few pay upwards of 1000.”

“That’s a big discrepancy. What did Highbury say they offer for the extra money?”

“They wouldn’t tell us,” Jones said. “Said it was an entirely legal set of enhanced professional services for job seekers and therefore none of our business. And no one paying the higher price would admit to being blackmailed. The fact is, a lot of people find good jobs through Highbury, which means the company isn’t entirely a scam. In the end we had no evidence and no case. We had to let it go.”

“You weren’t happy about it.”

“Hell, no. I’d interviewed a dozen different people who had joined Highbury recently. Each one mentioned an initiation event, and none of them could tell me what happened at that event. Sure, some were party guys who probably get wasted every weekend, but others said they rarely drink. What are the odds that all of them blacked out? I gotta think they were drugged.”

“And then asked to reveal secrets that might lead to blackmail?” Neal asked.

“That was my theory. They blocked every attempt we made to get an FBI agent inside. I even tried to go undercover as a bartender at their retreat on Long Island, thinking I could catch them slipping something into the drinks. They wouldn’t even interview me.”

“The FBI is almost as good as I am when it comes to creating false identities. Highbury’s background checks must be incredible to have kept you out. That in itself is suspicious.” Neal reached for Jones’ laptop. “Let’s accept their invitation.”

Jones slid the laptop out of Neal’s reach. “Not so fast. You don’t just jump into an undercover operation like that. We have to run this by Peter. If he approves, then we set up a plan, including surveillance. We take our time, do it right.”

“You’re starting to sound like Peter.”

“I hope so. There’s a reason he’s in charge: he’s good at this. And remember, Highbury eluded us last time. I want to catch them, and that isn’t going to happen without a solid plan.”

Neal suspected there was more to Jones’ reluctance. Peter was still extremely cautious about letting Neal go undercover, and it was time to change that. “Ok. Peter’s in his office. Let’s talk to him about this, and get the ball rolling.”

“Uh. You know, I should really go back and review my files on the original case, first.”

Neal wasn’t surprised that Jones was stalling. Based on prior experience, he thought Jones wanted to wait until Neal was busy with something else, and then would talk to Peter alone. Determined to have more of a say in his assignments, Neal said, “There’s plenty of time for that once Peter’s onboard. Anyway, it’s obvious you remember the important parts. I’ll bet you a cup of real, non-Bureau coffee that Peter remembers it, too.” And before Jones could respond, Neal opened the connecting door to Peter’s office. “Hey, we’ve got a bet here. Do you remember Highbury Professional Connections?”

Peter looked up. “Yeah, we thought they were blackmailing some of their clients. Why?”

“I’m going undercover to catch them in the act.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “The hell you are.”

“After you help us plan it out, of course,” Neal added. He took a seat in Peter’s office. Jones followed, shrugging an apology to Peter.

“What exactly is going on here?” Peter asked.

Jones explained about the email inviting Nick Halden to join Highbury. “As many times as we were blocked trying to get inside, this is an incredible opportunity. I know this isn’t the way you wanted to do it, Peter. But Neal’s getting antsy and I’m not the only one on the team wondering why you’re reluctant to send him undercover. His skills as a con artist make him perfect for this kind of assignment.”

“Thanks, man,” Neal said, surprised at the support. Then he turned to Peter. “Tell me what I need to do to make you trust that I can do this. You didn’t bring me into the FBI to do desk work for the rest of my life, did you?”

“You’re bored already?” Peter countered. “We’ve sent several complicated and high-profile cases your way, you know. And we’ve sent you into the field to do research. You aren’t exactly chained to the desk.”

The door opened behind Neal, but he went ahead and said, “No, I’m not bored. But I don’t understand why you aren’t using me to my full potential. It’s frustrating, always working on the setup and then turning a case over to someone else to finish the job. It’s like constantly being limited to foreplay and never –”

“Neal!” Peter interrupted.

“Have I come at a bad time?” asked Hughes drily.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter and Neal sat side by side in one of the smaller conference rooms. Hughes had escorted them there and then left them alone, saying he needed to grab a file from his desk.

“I probably shouldn’t have said that last bit,” Neal admitted.

“Oh, ya think? What got into you, Neal? You don’t normally resort to crude analogies.”

“I was trying to make the point that I’m an adult who feels like he’s being treated like a kid.”

“You managed to hit the middle ground. Very adolescent.”

Neal sighed. “Sorry. But I don’t understand what your plan is for me on the team. I thought I was supposed to be an equal, other than the lack of Quantico training, but it doesn’t feel that way.”

“You realize the adult thing to do in this scenario is to express your concerns and ask for an explanation? Preferably _before_ you’re too frustrated to do so in a professional manner.”

“I wanted to, but you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been…” Peter paused and thought about the last few weeks from Neal’s perspective. “Damn it. Corporate America and government bureaucracy are completely alien to you, aren’t they? At the start of the fiscal year, managers spend the better part of a month on goals and financial planning. For us, that activity kicks off in mid-January. It’s a non-stop round of meetings and spreadsheets.”

“A whole month? Why? The role of the FBI and the White Collar Division doesn’t change from year to year. And I thought you put together your budget in December.”

“We submit our requested budget in December. Then in January we learn what we’re actually getting and make adjustments. And the goals part is still in progress. Everyone on the team sets individual goals and gets evaluated against last year’s goals. You’re exempt from that until you’ve been here 90 days, and then we’ll talk about your goals. So you’re right. I haven’t had a lot of time for you, and I have put off talking about my vision for your role in the team until you hit that 90-day milestone.”

“There’s something else you’re...” This time Neal shut up when Hughes entered the room.

“Gentlemen,” Hughes said as he took the chair opposite them. “I had set aside this time for Agent Burke’s annual review. One of the questions I had for him was about how he’s using you on his team, Caffrey. Since you were expressing an opinion on that topic already, I decided to bring you in and cover that first. You don’t think you’re being used to your full potential. How do you think we should be using you?”

“I want to spend more time working in the field, especially doing undercover work. I’ve shown I’m good at it. It seems like Peter is reluctant to let me do that, and I get it.” Neal turned to face Peter. “I do get it, Peter. That trip to the hospital on New Year’s Eve isn’t something I want to repeat. The paperwork alone taught me I don’t want to take that kind of chance lightly. And I thought about what you said after Lucas held me hostage at that dock. I will be more cautious.”

Annual reviews were never fun, and this one had _excruciating_ written all over it. Peter considered what he could say in front of Hughes, because he had left a few things out of his report about the incident at the dock. For instance, he hadn’t mentioned that he’d overreacted and threatened to fire Neal, because he had started thinking of Neal as a son and couldn’t handle seeing someone pointing a gun at his son’s head. And maybe Neal had a point about the avoidance. Peter may have used his new managerial responsibilities as an excuse to create distance from the uncomfortable emotions he had experienced in January. “You mentioned earlier that I treat you like a kid. The fact is, several of us think of you as a kid, because you are the youngest member of the team. The next youngest is Jones, and even he’s a couple of years older than you are. But that’s not the only factor. Throughout my career, I’ve heard managers say they think of their team as their children. Now that I’m in that position, I feel responsibility for the success and well being of everyone on my team, and you… You’re the youngest, and the only member of the team I personally recruited to the FBI. So, yeah, I probably am more protective of you. And the fact is, knowing that you grew up without a dad…” Peter trailed off and gathered his thoughts. “More than anyone else on the team, you _need_ a dad. Maybe more than you want one right now.”

“I…” Neal started, and then glanced at Hughes.

Peter crossed his arms and felt a little smug. It was Neal who had started this whole thing back in December, calling Peter “Dad” as a joke. Now it seemed like Neal wanted a dad, as long as that dad could be twisted around his finger. _Let’s see him explain that to Hughes._

“I’ve learned a lot working for you, already,” Neal finally said. “Let me show you. I want to work the Highbury case, using their invitation to my Nick Halden alias as an opportunity to go undercover as a client. I’m your best shot at finding out what they’re doing, and then bringing them down.”

“And speaking as your manager, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Peter replied. But he had to admire Neal’s approach. Hughes would be intrigued by the Highbury reference.

“I didn’t know you had a new lead on Highbury,” Hughes said. “After our experience last time, why would you turn down an opportunity to send a team member inside?”

“The problem with using Neal is that we suspected Highbury of drugging their clients. I’ve seen Neal drugged on two occasions; both times, he had a flashback to being abused as a child. Because you refuse to seek therapy, Neal, I have to keep you out of any situation I think may cause another flashback. It’s too risky to send you into Highbury, because there’s a good chance you’ll blow your cover.”

“Does the invitation from Highbury expire anytime soon?” Hughes asked.

“I don’t believe so,” Neal said.

“Well, then the obvious compromise is to send you to therapy first, and then send you undercover when the therapist says you’re ready. Now get out of here, Caffrey, and let me give Peter his review.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Back at his desk, Neal searched the FBI employees’ site for information about performance reviews. He kept reading with increasing dread. Around noon, Jones pulled his attention away from the website. “Skipping lunch, Caffrey?”

Neal gestured toward his computer screen. “You really do all of this stuff?”

Jones looked over his shoulder. “Yeah. Your turn will come soon enough. What’s the problem? This is right up your alley. You start the year describing the amazing work you’re going to do, and end the year bragging about how you did it all. Sounds like a breeze for a con artist.”

“I conned _people_. I need to interact with them, hear their voices, see their expressions, and adjust. This is… forms and paper. I can’t con a piece of paper.”

“Never engaged in mail fraud, huh? Well, it’s no big deal. Agent Burke likes you. That makes a huge difference.”

“Yeah.” Neal grabbed his coat and spent most of his lunch break walking and thinking.

The paperwork aspect of the FBI was annoying, but manageable. What really bothered him was Peter.

Two months ago it had seemed like a terrific idea to work for the man who embodied everything he’d wanted in a father figure. Peter was honest, loyal, dependable, and he genuinely wanted to help Neal. As Jones had said, Peter liked Neal. More than liked, honestly. A month ago, when Peter called him _Son_ , it had been one of the most shocking and happy moments of Neal’s life.

He hadn’t thought about the implications of that moment for his job. If he had thought it through, he’d have guessed that if Peter couldn’t be entirely objective about him, that was good. It meant the boss would cut him a little more slack.

Clearly Neal hadn’t considered the other side of the equation. Peter the boss was too restrictive, because Peter the father figure worried. To make it worse, now Peter had Hughes’ support in making Neal go to therapy. The last thing Neal wanted was to talk to a stranger about the dark areas of his childhood, and to have a summary placed in his FBI file for Peter and any other manager in the Bureau to read. But there was no way around it.

Unless… Neal came to a stop in front of a coffee shop. Finally noticing that he was cold and hungry, he darted inside for cappuccino and a bagel. And he smiled as he waited in line, because he knew how to get around the therapist mandate.

With a little help from Henry, he’d be undercover at Highbury in no time.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC** _._

At home Monday evening, Peter was aware that he’d spent most of the meal complaining about his day at work, while avoiding his biggest concern. He looked across the table at his wife and finally told her, “Hughes asked if I can be objective when it comes to Neal.”

“Good question. Can you?”

“I have to be. It’s too soon for any other team in the Bureau to take him on. My team is just barely starting to accept him after a lot of effort on my part. A new team lead would see him as a risk, and ignore his potential. He’s brilliant and creative and willing to use his skills in committing crimes to help us solve cases. More than that, he needs this job, El. It will turn his life around. But if I say I can’t handle being his boss, then he’ll have no other option than to return to a life of crime. One day I’d end up arresting him.”

Elizabeth started picking up dishes to carry into the kitchen. “What did you tell Hughes?”

Peter followed her lead, helping to clear the table. “I said I could make it work, but I can tell he has doubts. He told me I can keep Neal on my team, contingent on getting Neal to talk to a therapist in the next four weeks. If I let him avoid that, Hughes will offer him to another team. And if there are no takers, then Neal will be let go.”

“I’m sure you can do it, hon. You’ll convince Neal that seeing a therapist is the right thing to do.”

“I wish I could shake the feeling that he’s already working on a way to avoid it.”

They finished loading the dishwasher, and settled on the living room sofa. Peter watched a basketball game, and El was reading, but he could tell her mind was elsewhere. At a commercial break she muted the TV and said, “You said you’d learned a lot about Neal in the year he was on the FBI’s radar, and you’ve learned even more since he started working for you. You’re worried he’s looking for a way to avoid a therapist. Why don’t you figure out how he’ll do it, and stop him?”

“You mean I should think like an FBI agent, instead of a manager. Ok. We start with his motivation. Neal wants to work on the Highbury case. Hughes made therapy a condition for that. Or specifically, clearance from a therapist. Neal will see that as an obstacle to overcome. Either he has to change Hughes’ mind about that condition, or he has to convince us that a therapist has cleared him. He could forge a statement from a therapist, but he has to know we’d follow up. It’s more likely he’d look for a licensed, respected therapist he could manipulate somehow…” Peter kissed his wife and then jumped up. “I need to call Henry and talk him out of whatever cockamamie scheme Neal has in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving the first chapter a try, and I hope you'll keep reading!
> 
> Many thanks to Silbrith for editing and patience beyond the call of duty. We created a Pinterest board for the stories in this series, with visuals of characters and locations: http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/ 
> 
> For more about this story and the series, see our blog. One post related to this story is: http://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2016/05/writing-as-therapy-origins-of-caffrey.html 
> 
> My descriptions of budgets, goals and annual reviews are based on my experience in massive corporations. I assume a government agency like the FBI has to be at least as bad.
> 
> And a moment of silence now in memory of James Rebhorn, the actor who portrayed Reese Hughes to perfection.


	2. Two-Mile Radius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential spoilers for Season 4.

**New York, Neal’s apartment. Monday evening. February 16, 2004.**

He wouldn’t admit it to Peter, who had a penchant for saying “I told you so,” but Neal liked the stability of a long-term legal job. While the FBI work still wasn’t as exciting as he had hoped, it left him with time and energy to channel his creativity after hours. The last few weeks he’d been painting.

He hadn’t yet discovered what his own style was, but he liked exploring who he was as an artist, and the pieces he produced served as an outlet for his emotions. In the corner of his apartment in the Ellingtons’ mansion was a dark rendering of the building’s exterior, inspired by sorrow over Byron’s increasingly poor health. Beside that painting was a pale, ghostly depiction of Kate, who seemed determined to fade out of his life. On the easel was an abstract he’d started over the weekend, expressing his fears and hopes about the interest his mother’s relatives had expressed in reconnecting with him, now that he was out of WITSEC.

He hadn’t been able to finish that painting because he realized he had to respond to their overtures, first. Funny how people often described him as impetuous, but on certain occasions he found himself frozen, unable to make a decision. Now circumstances took the decision out of his hands.

He’d left a voicemail for Henry that afternoon, describing what he wanted. An hour later he’d received a text, telling him to call at 7:30pm. It was 7:30 now, and he’d barely said _hello_ before Henry jumped into the heart of the matter. “You’re crazy.”

“I think you mean traumatized,” Neal corrected, “but with the situation well under control.”

“Right. If the situation is under control, why do you think you need to buy the diagnosis you want?”

“Oh, I’m not trying to buy a diagnosis. I couldn’t afford that on my salary these days. I’m looking for a trade.”

Henry groaned. The sound echoed.

“Why are you on speaker?” Neal asked.

“The cast doesn’t get removed until next week. Until then I can’t hold the phone in one hand and take notes with the other.”

Neal vividly remembered the night Henry broke his arm. It was the same night Lucas had held him hostage, and Henry and Peter had come to his rescue. Afterwards Peter threatened to fire him, and Neal really had gone a little crazy. “Yeah, about when you broke your arm… Peter guessed what I had planned, and I told him you might have been there to stop me from stealing the truck, instead of being there to help hotwire it.” There was silence in response, but Neal could picture his dark-haired 27-year-old cousin considering the options before he responded. Henry’s smile and hazel eyes would be hinting at secrets. “Were you planning to stop me?” Neal asked.

“Did you want me to stop you?”

These were the kind of circuitous conversations you had when your best friend had a master’s degree in psychology and had based most of his thesis on your experiences as a con artist. “I’m not going down that rabbit hole with you tonight. Look, you want me to agree to a reunion with the rest of the family. I’m willing to do that in return for a statement from a psychologist that I’m able to go undercover without risk of incurring flashbacks.”

“Peter knows that I’m not a practicing psychologist, and when I met him I told him I’m too close to you to be your therapist.”

“I realize that.”

“Then what, exactly, are you asking me to do for you?”

Neal bit his lip briefly in a sign of trepidation that he was glad Henry couldn’t see. “I want your mother to write the statement. I know a relative as close as an aunt would normally be considered too close. But since I haven’t seen her since I was three, and have only talked to her once between now and then, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You know she isn’t blindly going to write a note that you’re ok. She’ll insist on talking to you. I’ll insist on it, too. It’s time you got help.”

Neal wasn’t surprised, even if he had hoped to get away without actual therapy. “If she’ll write the statement after the first session, I promise I’ll continue talking to her.”

“At least once a week,” Henry insisted. “If you skip even one session, she rescinds her recommendation that you can work undercover.”

Bargaining with your oldest friend could be a pain in the ass sometimes. Henry knew him too well. “Ok. I’ll do it.”

“I’m so glad, sweetie.” That wasn’t Henry’s voice. It sounded exactly like Neal’s mom, which meant it was her twin sister, Noelle – Henry’s mother. She was a professor of psychology in Baltimore, and occasionally took clients.

Neal swallowed. He’d never felt so afraid of a fundamentally nice person. “Mrs. Winslow. I didn’t know you were there. Hello.”

“You know how Henry is. He loves surprises, especially at someone else’s expense. Will you please call me _Noelle_?”

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, Noelle. I’m sorry, it’s just that you sound so much like Mom…”

“Of course, that must seem odd for you. You can call me whatever makes you comfortable. We’ll set a schedule for our sessions, but first I’m dying to ask: why me? The FBI must have resources, not to mention the many psychologists available to you in New York.”

Henry snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? He doesn’t want the things his therapist learns to go into his FBI file.”

“Hush, Henry. I didn’t ask you, and you know better than to interrupt. Make yourself useful and find my calendar. It’s in my bag. Neal?”

Neal nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “He’s right. And beyond that, the stuff I need to talk about happened when I was in WITSEC. If the wrong person got their hands on your notes, it might be used to track down my mom. I know you won’t betray her.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Noelle said.

“Stop right there,” Henry said. “No mushy stuff. He’s your client now. In fact, we need to postpone the family reunion until he’s far enough into the therapy that it wouldn’t change the balance of your relationship.”

“It’s times like these, when you sound exactly like your father, that I remember why I divorced him.”

Neal tried to muffle the sound of his laughter.

“It’s fine to laugh, Neal. A sense of humor is healthy. Now I realize it won’t be practical to meet in person every week, but I’d like to start out face-to-face. As I recall, you had concerns about coming to Baltimore?”

“Robert would have a fit,” Neal said, mentioning Noelle’s ex-husband. Henry had introduced Neal to Robert three years ago. Convinced that Neal was “a no-good criminal like his old man,” Robert had tricked Neal into committing a crime and then kept the evidence. He’d used that evidence to blackmail Neal, saying he’d share the evidence with the police unless Neal dropped out of Henry’s life. Henry wouldn’t let that happen altogether, but Neal had stopped traveling with his cousin and moved to New York. Even with immunity from the FBI, Neal was concerned about the lengths Robert would go to if he learned Neal was hanging around Henry and Noelle in Baltimore. And Robert would learn. His company had access to more resources than the FBI did.

“I’ll go up to New York for a session this weekend, and then we’ll take it from there,” Noelle said.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter called Henry, Neal’s cousin sounded surprised but pleased to hear from him.

“How’s your arm?” Peter asked, aware that he should adhere to the niceties before demanding that Henry help bring Neal to his senses.

“Healing nicely. I have an appointment to have the cast removed next week.”

“That’s great. You know, Neal told me you were trying to stop him from stealing the truck. I’m not sure I believe it.”

“A little mystery is fun isn’t it? Especially when you’re an FBI agent.”

“Or when you’re the heir apparent of a major private investigation and security company like Winston-Winslow.”

“Has the FBI officially asked you to befriend me to learn what Win-Win is up to?”

“Officially, no. Unofficially is a whole other matter. But tonight I’m calling about Neal. Remember how you said we had a few weeks, maybe months if we’re lucky, before his flashbacks make a return? It’s been five weeks now. He wants to go undercover at a place we think is drugging their clients, and I’m concerned. We’ve said he can’t participate until he gets clearance from a therapist, and you know a lot of psychologists.”

“You think he’s asked me to find a psychologist willing to give him a free pass?”

“Has he?”

“Don’t worry, Peter. I have everything handled. If Neal needs to believe he’s taking a short cut before he’ll agree to therapy, there’s nothing wrong with that, is there? As long as he gets what he needs.”

“You promise he’ll get real therapy, from a reputable psychologist?”

“He’s going to see my mother. She won’t let him get away with anything.”

“Whoa.” Peter’s one conversation with Noelle Winslow had convinced him she was a force to be reckoned with. She’d have to be, as Henry’s mother. “You’re not messing around.”

“He’s my best friend. I’m not taking any chances with him. Now, is Elizabeth there? I’d planned to call her tomorrow, but tonight works if she’s available.”

“Um. Yeah. Hold on.” Peter walked back to the sofa. “Hon, Henry wants to talk to you.”

El’s eyes widened in surprise. She shrugged, and took the phone. “Yes?”

Peter sat down, watching the basketball game in silence and trying not to eavesdrop.

A few minutes later Elizabeth ended the call and placed the phone on the coffee table. “You know how I’ve been talking about opening my own company?”

“Yeah, you’ve been calling it Burke Premiere Events. Classy name.”

“When Henry was here, I mentioned it while we were making coffee. I told him it’s scary to take the leap from having a full-time job at the gallery to being my own boss. Now he’s suggesting a trial run. One event for a friendly client, where I’ll arrange everything and see if it’s something I really want to do for a living.”

Peter forced himself to maintain a relaxed posture. But given the decades of animosity between the FBI and Winston-Winslow, he worried about his wife getting caught in the middle. “What’s the event?”

“A surprise birthday party for Neal. A small but upscale event with family members traveling here from Washington DC and Baltimore. Did you know Neal’s grandfather is an ambassador?”

“Yeah, I think he’s retired. That sounds nice. Do you want to do it?”

“I do, but I’m worried about the timeframe. March 7th is right around the corner.”

Peter stopped slouching in the sofa and sat up straight to face Elizabeth. “The 7th? Neal’s birthday is the 21st of March.”

“Then a party on the 7th will really be a surprise.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Every Tuesday someone from the White Collar division tailed Neal over the lunch hour.

It had started as a daily practice, the result of the team not trusting the former criminal Peter had recruited. But as they got used to him, the practice transformed into a weekly training ritual. During the Wednesday briefings Neal and that week’s tail reported on what they had seen and done the previous day, and the team’s skills at following suspects had increased as a result.

They never told Neal in advance who would be the tail. He figured it out when he spotted someone following him. And sometimes he figured it out earlier, based on the behavior of the team in the morning. Based on what he was observing today, Neal thought they were going to try something new. As usual for a Tuesday, they had wrapped up the morning briefing and sent Neal back down to his desk while they decided who he would elude this week. Watching the discussion taking place in the glass-walled conference room, Neal noticed Jones’ teasing expression as he said something, after which Peter looked surprised and the team laughed. Then Peter nodded.

Neal suspected that Jones had challenged Peter to take a turn. And already Neal was considering how to elude the boss. Up to this point Neal had withheld certain tricks, just in case he really needed to elude the FBI someday. But he was tempted to use some of those tricks today. Things always got more competitive when Peter was involved.

Even as Neal wondered if Mozz could help him stow base jumping gear on a skyscraper before noon, Neal’s cell phone vibrated, and he recognized one of Mozzie’s numbers. “What’s up?” Neal asked.

“I’ve received a message from Kate. She wants to meet you today, at noon. I’m supposed to tell her the location. Do you want to use Friday?”

The safe house Mozz had named Friday would normally be an ideal location for a meeting, but not on a Tuesday. “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t go that far. I have a two-mile radius today.” After a spectacular chase scene with taxis two weeks ago, Peter declared the Tuesday tails had to remain on foot and could go no farther than two miles from the Federal Building.

“What?” Mozz didn’t know about that latest restriction.

“Never mind.” The team was leaving the conference room. Neal had to pick a location before they came downstairs and overheard this conversation. He named a café about six blocks from the office and said he’d be there at 12:15.

After he ended the call, Neal couldn’t stop thinking about Kate. He was grateful she was finally willing to talk to him. He shouldn’t question his good fortune. And yet, he couldn’t stop wondering: what did Kate want? And would it cost him his deal with the FBI?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Silbrith for editing and support during an insanely busy week. She has great suggestions, and I look forward to when she starts posting her own work.


	3. Tuesday Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the episode “Forging Bonds” and episodes featuring Vincent Adler.

**New York, White Collar Division. Tuesday morning. February 17, 2004.**

“It’s nearly noon. We’d better get started,” Peter said as he stopped at Neal’s desk.

Neal grinned as he stood and pulled on his coat. “I thought you’d at least pretend you weren’t following me,” he said as they walked toward the elevator.

“Like you were going to pretend you didn’t know I was this week’s Tuesday Tail?”

“It’s all part of the game,” Neal said as they stepped onto the elevator.

Peter pressed the button for the ground floor, and tapped his hand impatiently against his leg as the elevator stopped several times on the way down. When they finally reached the lobby he said, “That’s one of the differences between you and me, Neal. This is work. It’s our job. I take it seriously, and you call it a game.”

“This is your lunch break, Peter. Tuesday Tails is like recess for grown-ups. It’s about running around and being creative. Of course it’s a game. Think of it like this: is tailing me part of your 2004 objectives? Do you have a goal that says you’ll successfully track me at least 50% of the time?” They approached the exterior doors. Neal reached the door first, and held it open.

Peter stepped outside, about to say that no, it wasn’t in his goals, and if it were he’d be shooting for much higher than 50%. He looked back, aware of a stream of people pouring through the exit. Neal had lost himself among them. Peter had to smile and say, “He’s good,” before spotting his consultant in the crowd, heading east.

For the next ten minutes it was an evenly matched game of cat and mouse. The fact that Neal continued to head east made Peter think his consultant wasn’t simply dodging him. Neal had a destination in mind. Shortly after 12:10 Peter lost sight of Neal, but turned east, expecting to find him again in the next block. As he was passing by an alleyway he heard Neal’s voice. “Peter, over here.”

Peter stepped into the alley and let his eyes adjust to the shadows. “Did you forget who’s chasing who?”

“At the moment, I’m chasing Kate. She’s in the café across the street, second booth from the window. See her?”

“Yeah. I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

“I got a message this morning that she wants to meet. I don’t know what she wants, but I doubt it’s as simple as a reconciliation. She was avoiding me before I came to work for you, and she knows I’m with the Feds now. If she wants to talk to me anyway, she must be desperate.”

“Oh, God. And that makes you desperate.”

“Possibly. I don’t think she’ll recognize you. You should be able to go into the café, take the booth behind her, and listen in.”

“And keep you from doing something stupid?”

Yeah.” Neal looked at Peter. “I mean, no. Just hear her out. See if we can make her a deal, like the one I have.”

“Neal.” Peter put a hand on Neal’s shoulder to get his attention. He removed his hand when Neal was facing him. “I know you want her to get immunity, too. But you have to understand how rare that is. Remember, I was listening when you talked to her at the Sinclair house New Year’s Eve. She wasn’t interested in a deal like yours then, and it’s unlikely that she changed her mind.”

“But she could have. Or I could talk her into it now. I just need a little time to persuade her.” Neal sounded desperate already, which did not bode well.

“Don’t get your hopes up.” Peter hated to mention it, but he needed to remind Neal. “I can give you time to try to persuade her, but you realize I should arrest her. She broke into the Sinclair home during our op there, cracked a safe and stole cash, jewelry and papers.”

“Um.” Neal stared at the ground.

“Neal?”

“She didn’t crack the safe. I did.” Neal looked up, his blue eyes wide and pleading. “She refused to leave without cracking the safe, but she’s not very good at it. It was taking forever, remember? And I had to get back to the party before someone missed me. There wasn’t time to call you and ask for suggestions. My job that night was to talk to Collins without making anyone suspicious, and having an inept cat burglar set off alarms or simply get caught by the homeowners would have been a problem. I needed to get her out of there, so I opened the safe for her. But I did tell her that the FBI was on the grounds and she should surrender.”

“Yeah, you did.” Peter sighed. With a one-way connection to the FBI surveillance team, Neal had told them where Kate was headed and they were able to retrieve everything she had taken, although she had pulled a gun on Jones and gotten away. He wished now they had made it a higher priority to find and arrest her. “I need to think this through, Neal. You know we didn’t have a warrant yet when we sent you into that party. There’s a possibility that I’ll have to arrest you for what you just confessed here.”

“Just let me talk to Kate, first.”

“Fine. I can’t arrest anyone now. Not until I have a chance to consider all the legal ramifications of what happened that night.” Peter turned and rather abruptly headed toward the café. His mind was awash with conflicting thoughts and emotions. He was disappointed Neal had cracked the safe, but pleased he’d let Peter know about Kate’s request to meet today. The fact that Neal realized he needed help dealing with her was encouraging. The fact that he’d only admitted to illegal activity because he wanted to protect Kate was an issue; it would have been easier to dismiss the safe cracking incident as an expediency in the midst of an op if they had known about it immediately. Six weeks later there would always be the question of whether Neal had kept or intended to keep anything he’d found in that safe for his own personal gain. Peter barely acknowledged the waitress who handed him a menu as he slid into the booth. He asked for water and a deviled ham sandwich, and waited for Neal to arrive.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal’s first reaction on seeing Kate again was that she was still astoundingly beautiful, a brunette angel who would have inspired any artist to try capturing her luminous face. He slid into the red vinyl booth in the retro café and simply stared at her for a moment before saying, “I’ve missed you more than you can imagine.”

“We were good together, but it’s over, Neal.”

“I know you were upset about the way I asked you to come to Copenhagen. I honestly was trying to romance you, not con you. Yes, I was planning to break into the palace, but the most important part of the trip in my mind was seeing the wonders of Europe with you. I get why you were unhappy about the way I approached it, though. I’ll be more straightforward from now on.”

“Neal Caffrey _straightforward_? You always complicate things. It’s part of what made you fun. Before you were a Fed.”

“Did you think over what I said on New Year’s?”

“About giving myself up, confessing all, and becoming a law-abiding citizen? That’s not going to happen. That’s how I know it’s over. We’re on completely different paths.” Kate paused as the waitress took Neal’s order for a club sandwich, and then said, “Unless you change _your_ mind. Tell me you don’t miss it. The challenge, the excitement. Does the paperwork at the FBI give you that same rush?”

One assignment, on New Year’s Eve, had given him the same kind of rush he’d gotten on major cons and heists. And he’d gotten close to it again on the occasions Peter let him do field work. He had a strong feeling the Highbury assignment would give him what he craved. “You’d be surprised,” he said.

“Prove to me you made the right choice, and I’ll consider changing sides,” Kate offered.

“Seriously?”

“Do one more job with me. If you can walk away from it after that, I’ll believe you’re really meant to work for the FBI. And if that’s true, maybe I will reconsider.”

Neal took a sip of coffee. A moment ago it had tasted good, but now it was bitter. “That’s the only reason you wanted to talk to me. Because there’s a job you can’t handle on your own. What is it?”

“Tell me you’re in, first.”

Part of him wanted to say that he would do anything for Kate. Another part of him knew this was why he’d invited Peter along: to remind him not to throw away everything Peter had helped him gain. “If I would jump sides that easily, then we’d already know I wasn’t meant to work for the FBI.”

Kate started to slide out of the booth. Neal grabbed her arm. She shook her head. “I told you it’s over, Neal. You work for the FBI, I work for Adler. We’ve picked opposite sides.”

“Wait. Adler? No one’s heard from him in almost a year. How are you working for him?”

“He sends a message describing an assignment and what he’s willing to pay. I do the work or subcontract it, and when it’s done I get the money. It’s a lot of money, Neal, for a simple job. Think about it.” She stood up, and pulled her wallet out of her purse. Tossing some cash on the table for her food, she said, “I mean it. Think about it, and meet me back here this evening. I’ll be here when you leave the bland offices of the FBI.”

Kate walked out as the waitress delivered Neal’s sandwich. Moments later, Peter slid into the booth with his lunch. “What would Vincent Adler want so badly that he would risk repeated contact with a former employee?” he asked.

“I have no idea. And I don’t understand why he’d pick Kate as his contact. If he wanted something illegal done, why didn’t he pick me?”

“You’re too obvious,” Peter suggested. “You were already on the watch lists of several law enforcement agencies when you met him. Kate, on the other hand, seemed like a harmless girl with no criminal record at the time he disappeared. Plus, Kate has access to you. He knew you two were seeing each other, right?”

“Yeah, he knew.” Neal wasn’t hungry, but he started eating the sandwich anyway. He didn’t want Peter to see how much the conversation with Kate had unsettled him.

“How tempted are you to help Kate by taking the job?”

Neal shrugged.

“I heard her throw that bone, about how she might be willing to switch sides if you do this for her. You’re smart enough to know she doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t want to switch sides. Her loyalty is to the highest bidder, and that isn’t going to be the FBI.”

“I know. Just like I know you want me to take the job. It’s the best lead you have on Adler.”

Peter shook his head. “I want you to meet Kate this evening and learn more about the job, but that’s it. No going undercover until you’re cleared by a therapist, remember?”

“That’s for the Highbury case, because you think they’re drugging people. There’s no reason to expect that with this job. And it isn’t really undercover work. Kate and Adler already know who I am.”

“No, they don’t, Neal. They think you’re a criminal who can be twisted to their will. That’s not who you are now.”

Neal pushed away the plate with the remaining half of his sandwich. “Keep reminding me of that. Most of the time I believe it, but today I’m having doubts.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter barely had time to sit down at his desk before Jones appeared in the entry to his office. “How was it?” Jones asked.

“Not what I expected.”

Jones grinned. “You lose him?”

“No. Ten minutes into it, I learned he was using me as his backup in a meet with one of his former partners in crime, and now we have a new lead on the Adler case.”

“You’re kidding!” Jones took a seat in Peter’s office. “Why don’t you look happy about it?”

“It’s a long story. Listen, I’m going to need someone to stake out a restaurant this evening, when Neal meets with his contact again. I’d do it, but I think she’d be suspicious if I showed up a second time. Do you have plans?”

“I can be flexible,” Jones said. “Give me a time and place, and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks. Check with Neal. He’ll give you the details.” Peter expected Jones to leave, but instead the agent remained seated, looking agitated. “Was there something else?”

“Yeah. You know how you had me testing out the cell phone records the NSA is gathering?”

“Using Neal’s phone as a test case. You were going to track his movements and let me know if you noticed anything suspicious. Did you see something?”

“Not exactly. There hasn’t been much to see, honestly. But last night I plotted out the results for the last three weeks on a city map. I was going to look for patterns, and then see if I could generate an algorithm that would find patterns automatically.” Jones paused and straightened his tie in a rare display of nerves.

Peter leaned back in his chair. “Out with it, Jones.”

“You remember I mentioned a friend who’s been staying at my place?”

“Ex-navy buddy staying at your apartment while he recovers from an injury, right?”

“That’s right. George lost his lower right leg. He’s been learning to use a prosthesis and getting therapy from the Donwell Institute; they specialize in helping people who’ve lost limbs. The thing is, George has been sort of depressed, not taking much of an interest in anything, and I got careless. I left the map and my notes out overnight. I didn’t realize he’d looked at it until I went home for lunch today and he mentioned he’d seen the map before I’d put it away this morning. He must have studied it for a while, because he said he’d noticed some trends. There are places Neal tends to hang out, other than the office and his apartment. There’s nothing suspicious in what George found, but I knew you wouldn’t be happy that I let anyone see it.”

Peter sighed. “That’s highly classified data, Jones. No one is supposed to know the NSA is even collecting it.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Peter. I wasn’t thinking. Since Neal isn’t a suspect and the data wasn’t for a case, I didn’t treat it as carefully as I should have. If it helps, there’s nothing on the map or on my notes that indicates where the data came from. George has no idea what he stumbled into, but I can bring him in to talk to you, if you want to warn him about the restricted nature of it.”

“If he doesn’t realize where the data came from, at this point our safest bet is not to make a big deal out of it. And for you not to take it home again.”

“The thing is, if I work on it here, Caffrey’s likely to notice. He drops by my desk every so often to see if I’m working on something more interesting than what you’ve assigned to him.”

“Fine. If you haven’t noticed anything suspicious in all this time, let’s give it a break. Write up a summary for Hughes about the quality and value of the data for use in future cases, and maybe we’ll run another trial later.”

“I’ll get you that summary by the end of day,” Jones promised, and he looked relieved as he made his escape from Peter’s office.

Peter, on the other hand, felt a headache gathering like a nascent thunderstorm in his head. Almost from the first day Neal had started working at the FBI, he’d challenged Peter’s black-and-white view of the world. In Peter’s eyes, Neal shouldn’t undertake any undercover work until a therapist cleared him. Peter was sure that’s what Hughes had intended. But Neal was correct in pointing out that the restriction had been discussed in the context of the Highbury case.  

And now Peter, like Neal, was seeing gray areas. A meeting with Kate wasn’t a big deal, as far as undercover work went. And Adler was a huge priority for the Bureau, worth making a minor exception for. There wasn’t anything illegal about letting Neal do this without a therapist’s clearance. But it still felt wrong.

And speaking of things that felt wrong… What was he supposed to do about the fact that Neal had broken into a safe during his first undercover assignment at the Bureau? As hard as he tried, Peter kept running into more gray areas instead of a black-and-white answer.

Needing a second opinion from someone who would understand, but who wouldn’t be obliged to report Peter’s conundrum, he looked up the phone number of Thomas Gardiner, a former FBI agent who now taught law at Yale. Gardiner had helped get Neal into the New Year’s party where the safe cracking had occurred, and it didn’t take long for Peter to bring the man up to speed on this latest twist in the case.

“You don’t believe Neal opened that safe for his own personal gain,” Professor Gardiner said. “From what I’ve heard about him, he was a talented thief but not wealthy when you recruited him. And he accepted employment at the FBI, where he can’t expect to get rich. Therefore money isn’t his motivation. Furthermore, you’ve made it clear that you trust him. From what I’ve observed of Neal and heard from you today, I see no reason to take disciplinary action. Opening the safe was a necessary step to keep an operation on track, and he immediately made you aware of what had happened, enabling the FBI to recover what was taken. At this point I’d recommend training him on what the surveillance team needs from him during an undercover op. In this case, you needed more detail of what was going on and why, to prevent the types of concerns you’re facing now.”

“Did he ruin our case against Kate?” Peter asked.

“He certainly didn’t help it, but his role doesn’t change the fact that you have a recording of her stating her intent to steal what was in the safe, followed by your agent discovering the stolen property in her possession. When you do arrest her, that gives you leverage if she tries to negotiate rather than confess.” A creak was heard over the line as the professor leaned back in his chair in his office at Yale. “What’s your real concern here, Peter?”

“I’m worried that he lied to me.” Uncomfortable looking out toward his team in the bullpen during this discussion, Peter stood up to look out the window to the street below. “Neal loves Kate, and doesn’t want her arrested. It’s possible that she really opened the safe, and he claimed it was his work in order to weaken our case against her.”

“Knowing you’d be disappointed in him.”

“Yes,” Peter said.

“Let’s take you out of the equation for a moment, shall we? Is it in Neal’s character to open the safe himself, as he described, for expedience?”

Peter almost smiled. “It’s exactly the kind of impetuous decision he would make.”

“And it’s in his known skill set. Do you have any reason to doubt his assertion that safe cracking is not in Kate’s skill set?”

“In our list of crimes attributed to Kate Moreau, we don’t have any instances of safe cracking.”

“And in my own interactions with Neal, I noticed a distinct tendency for hero-worship toward you. I find it highly unlikely that he lied to you, Peter.”

Peter hadn’t realized how tense he’d become until Gardiner’s words allowed him to relax.

“I’d be surprised,” Gardiner continued, “if you can cite any recent examples of Neal lying to you.”

Peter returned to his desk chair. “Neal and I have different ideas of what constitutes a lie. He’ll mislead me, or misdirect without a second thought.”

“But not an actual lie?”

“No.” Peter thought back, and couldn’t recall a direct lie. Sarcastic remarks and jokes, but not real lies. “But we’re talking about a talented con artist. He lied for a living.” Peter recalled a conversation in St. Louis when Neal had said the same thing – that he didn’t need to practice lying because he did it for a living.

“Not to you, however.”

“Are you saying you think he _can’t_ lie to me?” Peter was aware he sounded incredulous.

“That’s outside my area of expertise. But I’ll say that I think he very much wants to avoid lying to you. He wants your acceptance and approval, and he knows being caught in a lie would jeopardize that. It’s not a risk he would take lightly.”

Peter wrapped up the conversation, thanking Thomas Gardiner for his advice and insight. For the rest of the day he kept wondering if he’d be able to tell if Neal lied to him, and if Kate were the one person who could make Neal cross that line.

Knowing that Neal would meet with Kate again this evening did nothing to help Peter’s headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Donwell Institute is fictional. I often struggle with character and place names, and for this story I'm pulling names from Jane Austen's Emma. The character Thomas Gardiner was introduced in my story By the Book, when I was using names from Pride and Prejudice.
> 
> Thanks once again to Silbrith for editing, reviewing, beta-ing, and sanity-checking.


	4. Connecting the Dots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for The Great Gatsby in case you haven’t read or watched it.

**New York café. Tuesday evening. February 17, 2004.**

When Neal returned to the café at 7pm, Kate was already waiting for him, and Jones had taken position on a centrally located stool along the 1950s style counter. The agent was pretending to be absorbed in reading the newspaper.

Kate looked up at Neal, and it seemed to him that her smile lit the room. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come back,” she said as Neal slid into the seat opposite her.

“I had to.”

A waitress stopped at their table, preventing Neal from continuing. He ordered the same sandwich he’d had for lunch. Kate ordered a chef’s salad. The waitress brought a pot of coffee and filled two mugs.

When the waitress was gone, Neal said, “Kate, you have to stop this. Working for…” Neal looked around, bringing Kate’s attention to the other people in the café. “Working for _him_ is dangerous. Every law enforcement agency in the country wants to find him. Why would you risk bringing that kind of attention to yourself?”

“He pays well. And you don’t get the rush without a little risk.” Kate raised her coffee mug as if to toast Neal.

Neal ran his hands through his hair. “God, Kate, I never should have brought you into my cons. I created another addict.”

Kate took one of his hands in hers. “If you really think it’s that dangerous, I’ll stop.”

“You promise?”

“I can make this my last job for him.” Kate shook her head. “I know what you’re going to say, but it isn’t that easy to stop. Adler’s requests come with an advance, and I’ve already spent the advance for this job. The plain truth is, I need the money from this job. Once I have that, I can let him know I need to take a break.”

“A break isn’t the same thing as stopping,” Neal pointed out.

“He’ll be more accepting if I tell him it’s just a break, and a temporary break can easily turn into a permanent one. But Neal, taking a break from working for Adler doesn’t mean I agree to stop doing this kind of work for everyone else. I’m not going to follow your route. That’s not for me. You have to understand that.”

“I’ll try. It’s just that I don’t see how we can be together unless we’re both on the same side.”

“Neither do I, but let’s take this one step at a time. The first step is completing this job, and for that I need your help. After that, if we’re meant to be together, we’ll find a way.”

A barrage of emotions ran through Neal and he didn’t try to hide them. “Kate…” He took a deep breath. “You know I’d do anything…” He paused as the waitress arrived with their food.

“Then you’re in?” Kate asked.

“I’m in. Tell me what you need me to do.”

“I need you to steal something.” Kate placed her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands. Her blue eyes sparkled. “Adler had an estate on the North Shore of Long Island, the area also known as the Gold Coast, beloved by the wealthy and F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

“ _The Great Gatsby_ was set there,” Neal remembered.

“Exactly. Adler loved that book. The wealth, the excess, the man who made himself into that mysterious and legendary figure. He liked to think of himself as modern-day Jay Gatsby. A few years ago an estate in Kings Point went on the market and he snatched it up. It was called Enscombe.”

For the first time that evening, Neal noticed a reaction from Jones. The name _Enscombe_ meant something to him. “I don’t recall Adler spending time there when I worked for him.”

Kate shrugged, and paused to eat some of her salad before saying, “At first he went there a lot, almost every weekend. But as Adler Financial Management expanded, he didn’t have that much time to get away. Before you arrived on the scene, he decided to lease it to an upscale club that uses the space for a retreat.” She went back to eating her salad.

“I’m supposed to steal something he kept at Enscombe?” Neal asked.

Kate nodded, still paying more attention to the salad than to Neal.

“Why would he leave something important to him in a house that’s open to the public?”

“He reserved the master suite for his private use. It has its own separate entrance, and part of the deal with the club was that no one goes in there. It’s kept locked, and what he wants is in a safe inside the suite. I don’t know what it is, Neal. Just that he will pay a lot of money for it.”

“Didn’t the FBI go through that suite and his safe already? They would have gotten warrants to search all of his properties.”

“This one was owned under another name. He did that sometimes, keeping a handful of assets off the books, probably for this very reason. I don’t think anyone has connected Adler to Enscombe. Even the club knew him by an alias.”

“No one recognized him?”

“They didn’t see him very often. The lease was handled by a lawyer, and you know what his hours were like. He’d arrive in the middle of the night.”

“But an estate like that… It would have outdoor amenities, right? A pool, a dock for fishing or sailing, tennis courts… Are you telling me he didn’t use any of those?”

“Nick! Do I have to spell it out for you? He had a girlfriend, or I guess you’d call her a mistress, and he didn’t want anyone to know about her. So, yes, he took her to Enscombe sometimes and hid away with her in the master suite until it was time to return to the city.”

Neal raised a brow. “Nick?”

“I… I’m sorry, Neal. Adler had the whole Jay Gatsby thing going, and then when you arrived on the scene as Nick Halden, well, he loved the idea of having a Nick in his own personal version of the story. When I think about his Gatsby moments, the name Nick keeps popping into my head.”

“Any idea who his Daisy was?”

Kate’s eyes widened. “His what?”

“The woman Adler wanted to hide from the world. If he was playing Jay Gatsby, he would have thought of her as his Daisy.”

“He never told anyone. And it doesn’t matter. We just need to get inside that safe.”

“And then what?” Neal asked. “How do we get the contents to him?”

“One step at a time, Neal. This starts with you conning your way into the club. They won’t be interested in an FBI employee, but Nick Halden is exactly the type of person they want.” Kate flagged down the waitress. “I’ll take the rest of this to go.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me about the club?”

Kate shook her head as she placed the remaining salad into a carryout container. “All I know is the name, and learning that is the easy part. You’ll need to find contacts and a way in.” She started to slide out of the booth, and paused. “And there’s a deadline. We need to have the contents of the safe by the end of the month.”

“Why?”

“According to the lease, the club only has to reserve the suite for Adler until March 1st, 2004. At that point they can change the locks and start using the space for their retreat. There’s no telling what they’ll do when they find the safe. They might toss it, or get someone to open it and find whatever Adler wanted to keep hidden. If you need my help for whatever con you decide to run, let Mozzie know. He has my number.” With that last bit of information, Kate stood up and left the café.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Kate Moreau was well out of sight, Jones left the counter to sit opposite Caffrey in the booth. “She stuck you with the check. You really didn’t know about Enscombe?” he asked the somber consultant.

“It sounds like there’s a lot I didn’t know. I saw your reaction. What’s the significance?”

“The club using Enscombe is Highbury Professional Connections.”

Caffrey shook his head and laughed without humor. “Peter’s going to hate this. Did the FBI really not know about Adler’s connection to Enscombe or the club?”

“I’ve been through the files for the Adler case and for Highbury, and neither one has a hint of a connection. And that’s a problem.” Jones saw Caffrey’s surprised look and elaborated. “All we have is the word of a suspected con woman. Getting a warrant to search Enscombe for Adler’s safe will be nearly impossible with such flimsy evidence. And even if we get into Enscombe with a warrant, it’ll make the management of Highbury nervous. They’ll start destroying evidence of their blackmail scheme, maybe clean up their act for a while or change their name and move to another city. We could lose any chance of proving what they’ve been up to.” Jones shrugged. “The only way I see this working is to connect all the dots by sending you in as Halden to break into that safe and to get evidence of the blackmail at the same time.”

The waitress delivered the check, and Caffrey pulled out his wallet. He laid a few bills on the table and checked his watch. “Listen, I need to get out of here. I’ll catch up with you in the morning.”

“I’m gonna call Peter in a few minutes with an update. You sure you don’t want to hang around for that?”

“Not really in the mood.”

“Hey, man, I get it. I mean, conning your ex-girlfriend can’t be easy, but you were good. I’ll tell Peter.”

“It was easier knowing she was conning me.”

“What do you mean?” When Caffrey didn’t answer, but simply looked morose, Jones added, “You can talk to me, you know. If you need a friendly ear, to blow off some steam, I’m here. All off the record.”

“The minute she put reconciliation on the table, I knew she was lying. She’s always said she was avoiding me because that wasn’t possible. Even at lunch today she said there was no way we could be together. That means I have to question everything she said tonight, especially…” Caffrey sighed. “Does your file on Adler mention a mistress?”

“Nah, I never saw anything about that. Everyone we interviewed said he was married to his business, too busy for romance.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Caffrey moved out of the booth abruptly, with an expression that made Jones uneasy.

The thing about Caffrey was that he had a collection of smiles he used to charm and get his way. Caffrey and smiling went hand-in-hand. Right now he looked angry and a little reckless. “I’ll head out, too,” Jones said, wanting to prevent Caffrey from doing something he might regret. He followed Caffrey outside. “You want me to give you a ride home?”

“Thanks, but I’m not going home. I have someplace I need to be.” Caffrey looked at Jones, and seemed to read some of his concerns. “It’s fine, Jones. My next stop is the perfect place to blow off some steam.”

Caffrey caught a cab, and Jones considered his options. He pulled out his cell phone and placed a call. “George, it’s me. You know how you said you noticed some patterns on that map? What exactly did you find?”

“During the business day it’s generally in or around the building where you work. Most nights are spent at Riverside Drive, and weekends are usually in the museum and arts district. But Tuesday and Thursday nights venture into an area in the Lower East Side. I’ve been there a few times; it’s mostly bars.”

Jones thought about asking for an address, but knew Caffrey would immediately spot a member of the team following him. The Tuesday Tails had ingrained that lesson. “You think you could head over there, see if you can track this guy for me? He’s not dangerous. I’m more worried about him than anything else.”

“Sure. What’s he look like?”

“You’re at my apartment now?”

“Yeah.”

“On the bookshelf there’s a photo of the White Collar team.”

There was the sound of footsteps. “Got it. You’re in the front row, next to a strawberry blond.”

“Tricia Wiese. The person in the middle of the photo is our boss, Peter Burke. He has an arm around the guy to his left. That’s Neal Caffrey. He’s the one I’m worried about.”

“You were tracking the movements of an FBI agent?”

“He’s not an agent, and… I’ll explain later. Just keep an eye out for him, and give me a call if you think he’s getting into trouble. Think of it as when we were naval officers looking out for the new guys the first time they went on shore leave. I’ll see you back at my place, ok?”

“You got it, Lieutenant Commander Jones.”

Jones grinned. Even as he worried about Caffrey, he had to be pleased to hear the old enthusiasm return to his friend’s voice. “I’m counting on you, Commander Knightley.”

With that task successfully delegated, Jones returned to his car for privacy as he called Agent Burke. He filled the boss in on what they’d learned from Caffrey’s old girlfriend.

“Do you think it’s a coincidence,” Peter asked, “the invitation from Highbury and this whole thing with Kate happening in the same week?”

“It could be. The invitation was a repeat. Caffrey said he first heard from them in late November.” Jones paused. The conversation at the café had bothered him. He didn’t have any evidence, merely his instinct shouting warnings, but the boss was known for relying on his gut. “Something about the Gatsby part bothered me. And I think from his reaction that it bothered Caffrey, too.”

“Tell me what about it seemed off to you.”

“Most of the conversation, Kate was a consummate saleswoman. She was looking him in the eye, nodding and smiling at him. I think she regretted mentioning Gatsby. Almost as soon as she did that, she turned her attention to her food and didn’t want to talk or look at him anymore. She got flustered, used the name Nick instead of Neal. And when he asked who was Daisy in this scenario, she looked like a deer in headlights. She denied it, but I think she knows who Adler was taking to that estate on the sly.”

“And she doesn’t want Neal to know who it was.” Peter sighed. “You think Kate was Adler’s mistress, his Daisy. If so, they were using Neal all along. He was their Nick Carraway, the one who kept people from noticing their relationship. In this case, by letting everyone see a relationship between Kate and Neal.”

“It’s just a theory.”

“It’s a good theory, even if it scares the hell out of me. I don’t want to think about what Neal will do if he comes to the same conclusion you did. And on top of that, _The Great Gatsby_ didn’t exactly have a happy ending.”

Jones refrained from saying he thought Neal shared his suspicions. He ended the call and headed home, trusting George to keep Neal from doing anything drastic tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't heard, there is a group of White Collar fans advocating for more than 6 episodes in the next (and likely final) season. You can follow them on twitter to learn more: @WCClosureTV
> 
> Thanks for the comments and kudos. I know there are a lot of great stories out here to read, and I want you to know I appreciate that you're taking the time to read mine. And as always, thanks to Silbrith for her proofreading and suggestions and thought-provoking questions.


	5. Playing Along

**New York City taxi. Tuesday evening. February 17, 2004.**

A good con artist doesn’t reveal his emotions unless those emotions help sell the con, Neal reminded himself, displeased that he’d let Jones see how upset he’d been after talking to Kate.

Peter would probably argue that “good” and “con artist” were mutually exclusive, and say that as a consultant for the FBI Neal shouldn’t think of himself as a con man anymore. But part of the reason the FBI wanted him in their ranks was for that very skill set. Therefore keeping in practice was important.

The challenge tonight had been the sheer number of distractions. Even before Kate’s bombshells, there had been Peter’s comment that Neal could be in serious trouble, even arrested, for cracking Sinclair’s safe on New Year’s Eve. Add on to that yesterday’s mandate that Neal must seek therapy regarding the abuse he’d suffered as a child, and who wouldn’t be flustered? The biggest, longest con of his life had been convincing everyone, including himself, that he was fine during and after that abuse. Reliving those memories was absolutely the last thing Neal wanted to do, even if it would make the flashbacks stop.

The implication that Kate had been Adler’s mistress had been too much to handle on top of everything else. It would take time to process exactly what Kate had said tonight compared to what Neal remembered of their romance. The fact is, he’d taught Kate how to run a con and she’d been a natural. That raised the question: why had she been so obviously rattled at the café? Had she really been thrown off her stride to that extent? Or had she been pretending, conning Neal into suspecting something that would make him react emotionally rather than intellectually? And why hadn’t she mentioned that the club leasing Adler’s estate was Highbury Professional Connections?

The taxi stopped in front of a bar, and Neal paid the driver. Rather than walking into the bar, he entered the music shop next door. They had one of the best selections of reasonably priced instruments in the city, and some creative marketing techniques. For instance, on Tuesday and Thursday evenings they ran a promo with the neighboring bar, featuring live music. Throughout the week, musicians visited the shop and auditioned, and the owner selected a set of artists to perform.

While in St. Louis in December, Neal had met a retired legend of alternate rock, Michael Darling. The keyboardist and composer for the group Local Devastation, Michael had been an idol of rock fans like Neal in the late 1990s. Michael had recently agreed to write songs for Ty Merchant, the lead singer of Local Devastation who was now embarking on a solo career. Michael would be in New York soon to go over some new songs with Ty, and out of appreciation for Neal’s help, he had extended an invitation to join them. He’d also insisted that Neal stay in practice.

The Ellingtons’ mansion had a music room with a piano, and Neal had a guitar, but practicing boisterous rock songs didn’t feel right as Byron’s health faded. Seeking other venues, Neal learned about the music store and had struck up a friendship with the owner. Randy Weston had hopes of eventually selling Neal a gorgeous high-end guitar, and Neal had hopes of being able to afford it someday.

It was 8:28 when Neal entered the store, mere minutes before Randy took the night’s performers back to his office to finalize the set list. “Had me worried there,” Randy said. “Come on back.”

As usual, there would be two simultaneous performances from nine to midnight. In the dark, moody bar, patrons would hear louder, more angst-driven rock songs. Meanwhile, waitresses would serve drinks in the bright shop, which would feature a selection of lighter, pop songs. While the bar had a cover charge, the store’s doors would be wide open to entice wannabe musicians to believe that they could learn to play like the performers, if only they came inside and purchased the right instruments.

The bar fit Neal’s mood tonight, and he volunteered to be part of that group. He selected two songs he wanted to perform covers of, and would back up other members of the group on their selections.

“Didn’t bring your beat-up guitar this time, Neal?” Randy asked as the meeting broke up. “Finally going to buy one from me?”

“Not this time, but I’ll rent one for the evening, if you’ll let me keep it till midnight.” Neal knew Randy would let the performers borrow an instrument for a small fee, in return for his shop being acknowledged at the end of each song where the instrument was used.

Randy led the way to the guitar he hoped Neal would buy. “You’re performing in the first 90 minutes. Why do you need it till midnight?”

“I’m going to East Meets West later,” Neal said casually, and then grinned at Randy’s look of dismay.

“That’s barely a step up from karaoke!”

“Yeah, but I promised to meet someone. It’s just one song. Then your guitar comes safely home again.”

Randy looked down at the expensive guitar in his hands. “You come back here when you’re done at the bar and swap this out for a different model. This baby isn’t meant for karaoke.”

Neal took the guitar with the reverence it deserved, and helped set up for the evening’s performance in the bar. After everything Neal had been through today, there was something cathartic about throwing himself into dark and edgy music. As he sang and played his guitar, he disappeared into the songs. It was more than playing the right notes and singing the right words. This was performance, loud and aggressive, and an outlet for his inner turmoil. Channeling that into music made him feel better, and made the audience cheer.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Agent Clinton Jones had faith in his friend George Knightley. The man was a decorated naval officer, and had proved himself in combat. There was no reason to worry about him following Neal Caffrey through the streets of New York. And for the first couple of hours, Jones wasn’t worried. After three hours, he was mildly concerned. After midnight, he felt like a parent whose teenager had broken curfew. Couldn’t George have at least called or texted? Should Jones be out looking for him?

Jones was actually pacing when he finally heard a key turning in the lock. He hurried to an arm chair, where he endeavored to look calm. “Find him?” he asked as George stepped inside. At 30 years of age, George was a few years older than Jones. He had straight brown hair, brown eyes, a tan from spending the last year in the South Pacific, and cheekbones that women lovingly described as proclaiming his native American heritage on his mother’s side.

George hung up his coat. “I think the term _scamp_ was invented for your friend Neal Caffrey.” He took a seat on the sofa. “I certainly got a workout that the experts at the Donwell Institute will be proud of.”

“Can I get you anything? Coffee?” Jones asked.

“Maybe some water,” George said. While Jones grabbed a bottle of water, George started his story. “I got there in time to see your Neal Caffrey arrive in a taxi. It stopped in front of a bar, but he went into the neighboring music store instead.”

“Did you go in?” Jones asked as he handed his friend the bottle and then sat down.

“Yeah, because I’m such a music expert. You ever heard me sing, Clinton?”

Jones thought a moment. “No.”

“That’s because whenever I start, people cover their ears and moan. I’m not someone who can hang out and make intelligent conversation in a music store. Fortunately there were a lot of people standing out front, and I joined the crowd. I saw signs advertising live music supplied by the store, with pop performances in the store starting at nine, and rock performances in the bar. People were waiting around to see which performers would be participating in each venue. Your friend Neal disappeared into a back room with several other people. When they emerged, someone who looked like a store manager handed him a guitar. Neal and several others walked over to the bar, and didn’t have to pay the cover charge.”

Jones smiled. “Let me guess. You felt comfortable going into a bar.”

“Beer, now there’s a language I speak. No bypassing the cover charge for me, but I got inside and grabbed a stool at the bar before the performance began. There were four of them: Neal, two other guys and a Goth girl. They took turns singing. Each of them took the lead on two songs, and they played and sang backup for each other.”

“Were they any good?”

“Based on the crowd reaction, I’d say so. Of course I only recognized about half the songs, but the girl sitting next to me was going on about how she plans to try out for _American Idol_ and when I started asking her for the song titles, she made me a list.” George stood up and walked back to his coat, pulling a cocktail napkin from a pocket. He handed the napkin to Jones and sat down again.

Jones read through the list. “Fell on Black Days” by Soundgarden. “First Cut is the Deepest” by Sheryl Crow. “Time is Running Out” by Muse. “My Way” by Butch Walker. “You Give Love a Bad Name” by Bon Jovi. “Unwell” by Matchbox Twenty. “Me Against the World” by Simple Plan.

“Goth Girl sang that second song, and I gotta say she really looked like she wanted to stab someone every time she sang the chorus, even though that wasn’t what the song meant. If she hangs out with Neal on a regular basis, I might be a little concerned. Your friend played the third and seventh songs. The last guy in the group was starting another song as Neal was leaving. I can’t judge the singing, but I thought Neal had the best actual performance. He seemed the most natural in front of an audience, and most believable in conveying the emotions of the songs. Which was anger, mostly. I’m sure you can look the songs up and see if anything in the tone concerns you, but to my thinking a loud performance is a lot better than heavy drinking followed by a bar fight.”

Jones had to agree, but as he didn’t recognize the songs Caffrey had performed, he planned to download them in the morning to be safe. “What time did he leave the bar?”

“About 10:15, I think. I wasn’t prepared for that. I’d expected him to stay through the last song. I wobbled a bit on the prosthetic leg when I hopped off the bar stool without thinking. No big deal, but it slowed me down enough that I worried I’d lose him. I made an educated guess he’d head back to the store to return the guitar, and guessed right. But here’s where he surprised me. I saw him hand over one guitar case, and the manager handed him a different one. And he carried that one out with him.”

A dozen scenarios ran through Jones’ mind. That case could have held stolen goods, contraband, cash for a job. Any of the above would give Agent Burke heartburn. “Where’d he go next?”

“He walked, thankfully, since I’d guess yelling ‘Follow that cab’ only works in movies. He went about five blocks north to a place called East Meets West. It’s sort of karaoke for duets. Bright, garish place. Like a really bad casino with a sense of humor about it. They served Screaming Wings and I Forgot the Words Rings.”

“Did you sing?” Jones had to ask.

“I’ve been told on many occasions that what I do cannot be called singing, and no, I didn’t subject anyone to that experience tonight. They pair up singers on the East Coast and West Coast, or sometimes in the U.S. and Asia. Most times people sign up for a specific song and are randomly partnered with someone else who wanted the same song. But sometimes singers would request to be partnered with a friend or with someone whose past performances had impressed them. I saw Neal sign up or register or whatever they do. Then I ordered a beer in the desperate hope of deadening my pain from the songs that followed. Some of those people were almost as hopeless at singing as I am.” He paused to drink some water. “A few were good, though. Neal and his partner were among the best.”

“What did they sing?”

“There was an MC based out of LA. Sounded like a Ryan Seacrest impersonator, if you ask me, and he announced their song as ‘Broken’ by Seether and Amy Lee. Do you know it?”

Jones shook his head, and jotted the name on the cocktail napkin with the others.

“Me neither. The girl he sang with was in Seattle, and was called Angela. She really attacked that song. Belted it out, my sister would say. She looked young, a college senior, probably. She wore a University of Washington sweatshirt and had dark hair in a ponytail. To look at her, I assumed she was Neal’s sister.”

Jones frowned. “He doesn’t have any siblings. He does have a cousin named Angela, and I think her age was 22.”

“The thing I found odd was that they said they’d first met over the holidays. And yet the MC said they sounded like they’d been singing together for years.”

“How’d they explain that?”

“Your friend Neal just shrugged and said they’d both had the same teacher.”

Jones thought over what George had told him, and asked, “And Neal played the guitar that he’d brought with him?”

“Yeah. It was obviously not the same guitar he’d played before. But other than the color, I couldn’t tell you what was different about it. When he was done with the song, he packed it up and headed out. This time I was prepared. I’d already paid for the beer, and I jumped up to follow him.”

Something didn’t compute. “You’re telling me you followed Caffrey to this place and then followed him out again and he didn’t notice he was being followed?”

“Now we get to the reason I called him a scamp. I caught up with him at the entrance, even bumped into him.”

Jones groaned. He knew where this was headed.

“Then he slipped out with a group of people, and when I got outside, he’d disappeared. I thought chances were good he’d go back to the music store with the guitar, so I turned south. I’d only gone a few yards when he stepped out of an entryway, calling me by name and holding my wallet. Not something I expected of an FBI employee.”

“You might say he had a misspent youth.”

“Yeah. Give a guy a little warning, next time.”

“Did he return the wallet?”

“In exchange for telling him why I was following him. I didn’t mention you by name, just said that a friend was worried about him. We walked back together. I admitted that I didn’t know the first thing about music and nearly panicked when I saw him head into that store, and he got a good laugh out of that. It did seem like his mood had lightened. He took me into the store with him while he returned the guitar. Then he hailed a cab and asked if I wanted to share a ride. I assumed he could figure out you’d sent me if I gave your address, so I declined, and heard him tell the driver Riverside Drive. I remembered the name from the map. It’s where he spends his nights. He was going home, right?”

“That’s right.” Jones relaxed, satisfied that Caffrey wasn’t going to do anything crazy. He was about to suggest turning in, but it seemed George wasn’t done with his story.

“There I was, congratulating myself on keeping up with a twenty-something on my prosthetic leg, when someone stepped out of the crowd around the bar and asked if I’m a friend of Neal’s.”

“Give me a description.”

“About your height. White, dark blond hair and light brown eyes. Around thirty. He guessed I was former military and introduced himself as Captain Isaac Dixon, former USAF. Do you know the name?”

“No, but Caffrey’s uncle and godfather served in the Air Force. That could be the connection. What did you tell Dixon?”

“I described myself as a friend of a friend. Dixon said his club is looking to book live entertainment, and he wanted to offer Neal a job. I told him Neal had a day job, but that didn’t deter him. He said most musicians he met had another job.”

“Did you mention that Neal works for the Bureau?”

“No, you hadn’t said exactly what kind of work Neal does for the FBI, or what kind of trouble you thought he might be getting into. I thought it best not to give anything away.”

“Good instincts. Did the guy seem legit?”

“Yeah. He didn’t ask any more questions, other than making a request that I give his business card to Neal. It’s in my wallet. You want it?”

Jones sighed. “I can’t give it to him without admitting I’m the one who had him followed. He isn’t going to be happy about the tail, but he’ll assume it was something the boss arranged. I’d rather he keep thinking that.”

“I’ll hold on to it. If he guesses it was you who gave the order, or if you think of a way to give him the card without him guessing, let me know.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

In the guest room, George Knightley felt a sense of pride that he’d been able to do this favor for his friend. It was the first time he had been able to do anything significant for Clinton Jones since he’d started crashing at his place two weeks ago. Being a freeloader didn’t suit him, even though Clinton insisted it would be ridiculous for George to pay for his own place when Clinton had plenty of space and lived near the Donwell Institute.

Pride was the reason George hadn’t told his friend about the rest of his conversation with Dixon. After giving him the business card, Dixon had asked what a former Navy commander did in civilian life. George mentioned he’d gotten a medical degree while in the service, and expressed his desire to find a job in hospital administration.

Dixon had gone on to say that the club where he worked had a lot of doctors as members, and encouraged George to stop by for lunch the next day. The whole purpose of the club was networking – putting job seekers in the path of professionals whose companies were hiring.

The idea of finding a job quickly and establishing his independence held huge appeal. But he’d wait to tell Clinton about the invitation to visit Highbury Professional Connections until he saw if he got a solid job lead out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> East Meets West, Local Devastation, Michael Darling and Ty Merchant are purely fictional. George Knightley, Weston and Dixon are more names pulled from Jane Austen’s Emma, as are Highbury and Donwell.
> 
> My thanks again to Silbrith for proofreading and beta magic. Her questions about where this series is going next have been inspiring. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next week, in chapter 6, we’ll encounter Byron and June again. And Peter will be worried about Neal.


	6. Disconnected

**Chapter 6: Disconnected**

**Ellington Mansion. Barely Wednesday morning. February 18, 2004.**

It was after midnight when the taxi dropped Neal off at Riverside Drive. When he entered the house, the first floor was dark. But to his surprise, a light came on in the parlor beyond the music room. With Byron unable to climb the stairs to the master bedroom, a hospital bed had been set up for him in that parlor. Turning on the light was a signal that he was awake and wanted company.

Neal approached the room with mixed feelings. While he liked Byron and appreciated the man’s advice, it was painful to see the once vital man bed-ridden and struggling to speak. Beyond that, although the night of music performance had helped level out Neal’s mood to the extent that he’d been convincingly lighthearted with George Knightley, Byron wasn’t as easy to fool as a total stranger. Neal really wanted to go upstairs and be alone, but there was no ignoring the light in the parlor.

These days Byron was almost never alone. A nurse or June remained at his side, ready to administer pain medication or to fetch anything that might amuse or distract him. Right now June was lying on a sofa a few feet beyond the hospital bed, so tired that the light hadn’t woken her. Byron’s hand hovered shakily over the light control that lay beside him on the bed.

“Got a… hot… date?” Byron asked.

Neal took the chair between the hospital bed and the door. “As a matter of fact, I saw Kate this evening. She wants my help with a job. And the FBI wants me to take the job to lead them to a bigger fish.” He tried to keep his voice low, to avoid disturbing June, but she sat up.

“Neal, have you been home long?” she asked. Her eyes were puffy from crying recently,

“Just got here. You wanna break?” he offered.

“Maybe a moment to fix my hair. I’ll be right back.” She sniffled as she walked away.

“Your girl… pretty?”

“Almost as pretty as June. Hey, can I get you anything?” Neal asked, trying to deflect the conversation away from Kate.

“She change… her mind?”

Neal sighed. “No. She still isn’t interested in immunity. I just don’t get it. I’m used to being able to talk people into things. This should be a no-brainer, because she should already want it. She has to know the Feds are closing in, and when they do she’ll go to prison. And she still won’t go for a deal.”

“Life… change. Hard. Most can’t… do it.”

“I did.”

“Special.” Byron shook his head as Neal started to protest. “You found… something… you wanted… more.”

“I’m not sure, Byron. I love her. Maybe I’m supposed to give this up to be with her. Love’s the most important thing, right?”

“Only if… she loves… you… as much. But… she loves… con more. Money… more than… people.”

“More than me, you mean?” Neal ran his hands through his hair. “Do I just give up?”

“It’s time… to let go… or get… hurt… even more.”

“Even more than it hurts now? That’s hard to imagine.”

“A cycle… keeps repeating… hurting… till you… stop. Let her… go. And me.”

“What?” Neal didn’t follow.

“Be ready… to let… go. Not much… time.”

“What? No!” Neal protested. He heard June’s footsteps and stood up. “Tell him to stop saying that.”

“Byron’s right,” said June, leaning against the doorway. “The hospice people are experts, and they say we have only a few days left.”

Neal instinctively backed up a step. “But… You aren’t just going to give up, are you?”

“Always… knew,” Byron said. “Have to… accept.”

“But you’ve been fighting all along. You can’t stop now.” Neal couldn’t find the words. “No.” He backed away another step. “No.”

“It’s alright, Neal. It’s time to accept the truth, to be at peace with it, and be prepared. And it’s alright to take your time to get there. You can’t possibly hate it as much as I do, I promise you. But we wanted you to know what to expect.” June’s eyes were brimming with tears, and yet she looked at him with sympathy. "I know it’s a lot to take in, and you have to go to work in the morning. Go on upstairs and get some rest.”

Neal nodded and left, numb with shock.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

In the morning, Neal approached the parlor with the silent footsteps of a cat burglar, determined not to intrude on the couple’s remaining time together. Typically June and Byron would share a breakfast around this time, but today there was no breakfast tray. Instead a nurse was making soothing sounds and administering morphine.

June stepped out of the parlor into the music room. “He stopped eating yesterday. He can’t keep anything down.”

“I’m sorry.” It felt inadequate. “I’m so sorry, June. Last night I felt like a coward for leaving, and like a needy fool for wanting to stick around for reassurance. Is there anything I can do?”

“Do you have a few minutes?” When Neal nodded, June continued, “The day you met Byron, you were playing the piano, and we requested a Sinatra song.”

“I remember. I played ‘Young at Heart.’”

“And sang it, too. Would you do it again? He loves Sinatra. I’d like him to hear something he enjoys, to have happy memories now.”

“Of course.” The piano was nearby, in the music room where they were talking. Neal played and sang the song softly, almost as if it were a lullaby.

June had tears in her eyes again when he stood up. “I’m always crying today,” she said apologetically. “Do you think, at…” Her voice broke. “At the funeral, would you play something for us?”

“Anything. If I don’t know the song you want, I’ll learn it.” Neal looked at his watch. “I’m sorry, but they’ll expect me at the morning briefing.”

June took his arm and they walked to the entrance together.

Neal hesitated. “If you need anything, I could come back. Or I could get the day off.”

“No. Save the time for the funeral.”

There was an ornate set of coat hooks in the entry hall. Neal grabbed his winter overcoat and eyed a jaunty fedora of Byron’s that matched the suit he’d chosen today. He picked it up and cradled it in his hands. “Would you mind?”

June took the hat and reached up to place it on Neal’s head. She adjusted the angle and nodded. “It gives you the same devil-may-care attitude he had when he wore it. I’m glad to see it, and to remember. Wear it anytime you want.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The team arrived at the Wednesday morning briefing expecting to be regaled with the adventures of the latest Tuesday Tail, but Peter simply said their consultant had chosen to lead him to new information on a cold case. He directed Neal, Jones and Tricia to turn over their assignments to others on the team by noon, and to meet him in the afternoon to be briefed on their next assignment. He’d already warned Jones of Hughes’ order not to mention Vincent Adler to the rest of the team yet. They had the remainder of the week to prove they had a solid lead in the case before they officially reopened it. If they found enough evidence, they would expand the investigation. If they couldn’t back up Kate’s story, they would drop it.

Peter spent the morning with Tricia Wiese, who had the most complex case to turn over. August Hitchum wasn’t happy to take over a case midstream, and Peter had to smooth some feathers. He also made a note in Hitchum’s file about the agent’s increasingly poor attitude. It took very little to antagonize the man these days, and the rest of the team avoided working with him.

In the afternoon Peter led the trio back to one of the few conference rooms that didn’t have glass walls. As they entered the room Tricia raised a brow, and said, “This is something big, isn’t it?”

“It could be,” Peter said, and closed the door before he filled them in on their new assignment. Jones would take the lead on the research, looking into the ownership of the Enscombe estate, and the lease agreement with Highbury. They needed to find a link between Adler and the Highbury retreat before they could get approval to send Neal in to crack the safe in the master suite. Tricia would look into the options for surveillance. A municipal van would be noticed on the estate grounds, and they needed an alternative for monitoring Neal if they sent him undercover. Neal would respond to the invitation Highbury had sent Nick Halden, and arrange to stop by their Manhattan offices. Peter stressed that Neal should make the appointment for a time when there would be plenty of people around, and he should remain in public areas at all times.

Neal made a token protest that he knew what he was doing, but not with the vehemence Peter had expected. Peter knew he should be happy at the lack of resistance, but instead he worried. He sent his agents on their way, and told Neal, “Let’s look at Halden’s resume and update it for the time since Adler’s company folded. We can pull in some favors from a few companies in town, and get one or more of them to confirm you’ve been an employee in good standing.”

“Sure.”

The lack of comment did nothing to reassure Peter. “What, no complaint that when you do it, it’s a fraud but when the government does it, it’s fine?”

Neal looked at him blankly a moment, and grinned belatedly.

Peter crossed his arms. “I know that smile. It’s the one you use when you need to convince someone you’re happy. Stop trying to con me, and tell me what’s bothering you. Is it Kate? Because I have to tell you, if she’s telling the truth and we get to Adler, no one’s going to care about making a case against her. She’ll probably be treated as a witness rather than a suspect.”

“Good.” He didn’t sound as pleased as he should have, but before Peter could follow up, he added, “I have an appointment to talk to a therapist on Saturday.”

Peter nodded. He knew Neal wasn’t thrilled about that mandate. Maybe his reticence today was due to annoyance at having capitulated to Hughes’ demand. He decided against admitting that he’d spoken to Henry about it. “I’m glad you’re taking that step. It won’t be fun. But in the end you’ll be better off, and I can give you the kind of case work you really want.”

“You’re sending me to Highbury even without a therapist’s clearance,” A portion of his normal smugness returned to Neal’s voice.

“Only for an initial contact, and I want you in and out again in under an hour. There is no way you’re going to one of their initiation events until your therapist agrees you can handle it.”

“We only have a couple of weeks to get into that safe,” Neal said.

“That’s assuming we believe Kate. She could have made up that deadline to pressure you into acting quickly, before you could think things through. That’s why we have Jones looking into the actual lease agreement.”

Neal nodded and volunteered to find Nick Halden’s resume. He returned with it shortly, and they busied themselves updating it. Then they responded to the email Highbury had sent, providing Halden’s resume and expressing interest in learning more about Highbury’s services.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Agent Tricia Wiese returned to the office shortly before 5pm. Peter looked eager to hear her report, but checked his watch and sighed. “It’s getting late. We can pick this up again in the morning.”

“I don’t mind staying late,” said Neal. It had taken him a while to get focused on work today, but having gotten there it was a welcome reprieve from the situation at the mansion.

And so they stayed another hour, with Tricia drawing a map of the area around Enscombe. “The most inconspicuous place to set up monitoring equipment within range is on the water. A sailboat would have the space we need, and could stay nearby. Enscombe has a dock we can use if we need access to the property to make an arrest.”

“I hate to think what our response time would be if Neal needs help,” Peter said.

“I won’t need help,” Neal countered.

“If I had a dollar for every junior agent who said that, I could retire now,” Peter said. “What are the other options?”

Tricia pointed to Enscombe’s nearest neighbor. “The next estate over has been turned into a bed and breakfast. I don’t think we could bring in monitoring equipment without being noticed by the Enscombe staff, but a couple of agents could check in the night before the op, and spend the day outdoors without raising suspicion. From the B&B’s beach area, someone could set up a picnic, go fishing, and easily access Enscombe’s dock. There’s a staircase leading up from the dock to the Enscombe buildings. If we got a distress call, we can have an agent on the scene in less than five minutes.”

Peter stood up and paced the room, which Neal knew meant he was getting excited about the plan. “Let’s say we have Jones at the B&B, and monitoring equipment on the water. Who do we know who has a sailboat?”

“Can’t we rent one?” Neal asked.

“I’d rather not have a trail leading back to the FBI, in case the staff at Enscombe notices a boat hanging around and looks into who it belongs to. We need a boat that’s not connected to us, and someone who knows how to sail it.”

For the first time all day, Neal actually felt his mood brighten. He mustered his most innocent expression and said, “Henry might be able to help.”

“Your cousin owns a sailboat?” Peter stopped pacing.

“No, but his grandfather on the Winslow side of the family does. All of Henry’s Winslow cousins know how to sail. I’m sure Henry could talk his grandfather into letting him borrow it, and he could sail it up from Baltimore.”

“Would your cousin be willing to do that for the FBI?” Tricia asked.

Neal pretended to think it over. “Well, helping the FBI, and helping me by extension, would seriously annoy Henry’s father. So…   Yeah, in a heartbeat.” He grinned. “Of course that means Henry would be part of the op. I know he’ll love the chance to work with Peter.”

Peter sighed. “I’m already regretting this, but the higher ups in the Bureau would jump at the chance to see the FBI and Winston-Winslow collaborating on a case for the first time. Talk to your cousin"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winston-Winslow was introduced in my story By the Book. They are an investigation and security company founded by two former FBI agents in the 1960s. One of those agents was Henry’s great-grandfather.
> 
> Thanks again to Silbrith for editing and excellent beta services for upcoming chapters. Next week Peter realizes what’s bothering Neal.


	7. Making Connections

**New York City, White Collar Division. Thursday morning. February 19, 2004.**

For the second morning in a row, Peter looked down from his office to see Neal arrive moments before the day’s briefing was supposed to start. And he wore a fedora again, dropping the hat and coat at his desk before rushing upstairs to the conference room.

At the end of the briefing, Peter dismissed everyone not working on the Adler case. Closing the door, Peter turned to face Tricia, Jones and Neal. “What did your cousin say, Neal?”

Neal looked up blankly. “Hmm?”

Peter stopped on his way back to the conference table. “What did Henry say when you asked him to bring his grandfather’s sailboat to New York?”

“Oh.” Neal looked into his coffee cup for a moment, and then met Peter’s eyes again. It was rare to see him looking embarrassed. “I didn’t get to talk to him. You want me to call him now?”

Peter saw his surprise mirrored on the faces of Tricia and Jones. Neal might still have a lot to learn about working at the FBI, but he _never_ dropped the ball on a case. “Anything wrong?” Peter asked, feigning nonchalance as he took a seat.

Neal hesitated. With uncharacteristic uncertainty he said, “June’s daughters and their families were over last night. I got distracted.”

An unpleasant thought ran through Peter’s mind. _Is this how Neal behaves when he tries to lie to his father figure?_ But he simply said,“Fine. Go ahead and give Henry a call. We should find out if we need to line up another option for surveillance on the Enscombe estate. Jones, get your laptop. I know it’s a longshot since we just sent the message to Highbury late yesterday afternoon, but I want us monitoring the Nick Halden email account for a response.”

With Neal and Jones both out of the room, Peter turned his attention to Tricia. “If I had to guess what would make Neal behave this oddly, I’d say it’s his ex-girlfriend. She was a low priority to the Bureau and dropped off our radar after we recovered what she stole on New Year’s Eve. But she’s clearly a player in this case, and could make things difficult for us if she’s manipulating Neal. Would you look into Kate, see where she’s living, what she’s been up to? I think it’s time to pay more attention to her.”

“I’m on it,” Tricia promised. She went down to her desk to start her research. Jones returned with his laptop, and was signing into the Halden email account when Neal returned.

He shrugged as he stepped back into the room. “I got voice mail. Henry’s probably working a case. He usually gets back to me within a few hours.”

Before Peter could respond, Jones said, “We got a bite!” Peter and Neal both moved to look at the computer screen.

“They responded first thing in the morning,” Peter noted as Jones opened the email. It invited Nick Halden to stop by the Highbury Manhattan location at 11:30am to talk to a consultant and to stay for lunch.

“That’s barely enough time to get the van in place. I can make some calls, get the surveillance equipment reserved to monitor Neal,” Jones offered.

Peter hated to lose momentum on a case, but he had to ask, “Are you up to this, Neal?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me. You’ve been distracted all morning. We can’t afford to have this case go sideways on us. If you need time to get your head back in the game, then let’s tell Highbury to reschedule.”

Neal shook his head. “I’m fine. I can do this,” he said with the eagerness Peter expected to hear when the kid had a chance to go undercover.

Maybe he’d overreacted. Neal would tell him if something was wrong, wouldn’t he? “Make those calls, Jones.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“And here is our library,” Wendy Bates said, leading Neal into a room with several computers and shelves of reference books. “It’s a great place to update your resume and research companies.”

Like the rest of the Highbury facilities, there was a mix of modern, high tech amenities with an old-world club feel -- leather chairs, Persian rugs on the floors, wood paneling. Fifteen minutes into the tour, Wendy had barely let Neal get a word in. Now, in the empty library, Neal took advantage of her pause for breath. “You saw my resume. Does it need updating?”

“Well, Mr. Halden –”

“Nick, please.”

The blue-eyed blonde nodded. She was a few years older than Neal, and wore the navy blue suit and pale blue shirt that seemed to be a uniform at Highbury. “As you like. Your resume does a good job of describing your past, Nick. But a great resume also looks to the future. I’d add a statement at the top describing your objective – something that tells a recruiter what you’re looking to do next.”

“What if I’m not sure what I want to do next?”

“Part of my role as a career consultant is to help you explore your options and discover what appeals to you.” She moved out of the library. “And now the last stop on the tour is our dining room. I hope you’ll join me for lunch so we can talk about how Highbury could enhance your career.”

“How could I turn that down?” Neal asked as they entered the dining room. “Lunch smells amazing.” Aware of the fact that his watch was transmitting their conversation to the van, he added, “I love a good steak.” Peter was probably eating a deviled ham sandwich right now.

“Our menu is limited, but the highest quality. This way, Nick. We have a number of quiet alcoves perfect for private conversation while we dine.”

After an efficient waitress took their order, Neal said, “If you don’t mind my asking, how did Highbury get my name? I’d never heard of you before I got the email invitations.”

“When Adler Financial Management collapsed last year, we had an influx of former employees seeking our help. They provided the names and contact information of colleagues who might also need our services. You’ll find many Adler alum among our satisfied clients. In fact, you’re likely to see several familiar faces at our events. An important part of the Highbury culture is maintaining your network after you find a job.” She could have kept going, Neal knew, but she paused when a man approached their table. “Nick, I’d like you to meet my boss, Isaac Dixon. Isaac is one of the co-founders of Highbury Professional Connections. Isaac, Nick Halden is a former employee of Adler Financial Management.”

“Another one?” Isaac said. In his late 30s, he had sandy blond hair in a buzz cut and brown eyes. “Say what you will about Vincent Adler, he recruited some excellent people.”

“Will you join us?” Neal asked. He had a hunch Isaac could provide more insight than Wendy could into what the FBI wanted to know about Highbury.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Isaac said. He gave his order to an observant waitress who saw him take a seat. “Tell me what you’ve been doing since working for Adler.”

Neal described the two jobs Peter had helped him add to his resume. “The frustrating thing is that there are jobs out there, things I’m interested in and I know I could do, but no one wants to take a chance on me. It seems like they’re afraid that since I worked for a crook, I must be one, too. Everything I’ve done since Adler fled the country has been contract work, short-term stuff.”

“You’re not alone. I hear a lot of that from Adler’s former team.”

Neal flashed one of his most winning smiles at Isaac. “It’s good to know that. Wendy was just telling me you got my name from former Adler employees. Who are some of the people you’ve helped?”

“It’s not our practice to give out client names to non-members,” Isaac said.

“I understand, but I’d like to talk to some of them about their experiences here. I’d feel better about joining Highbury if you could provide a few names as references.”

In the end, Neal got three names out of Isaac Dixon. All were men who had worked closely with Adler. Thinking about what they had in common, Neal said, “Then you’ve probably worked with Gilbert Goddard, too.”

A calculating look crossed Isaac’s face before he could suppress it. In casual tones he said, “I’ve heard the name, but he isn’t a member. A number of people have suggested he’d be a great addition to our network.”

Neal nodded. “It would be good to reconnect with Gil. It’s been a few months since I’ve talked to him.”

The look crossed Isaac’s face again. “You’ve talked to him since Adler’s company folded?”

“I’ve run into him a few times. That looks wonderful, thank you,” Neal said to the waitress who delivered his steak. He took the conversation down the path of cuisine, while pondering Isaac’s reactions. Was Highbury recruiting former Adler employees hoping to get to Gil Goddard?

At the end of the meal, Isaac and Wendy made their pitch for joining Highbury. Neal reminded them that he wanted to talk to his former colleagues, but Wendy insisted he take a folder of paperwork. “Of course you can complete the application and payment online, too. I understand being cautious, Nick, but the longer you wait, the longer until you find the job that’s perfect for you. There are so many great opportunities right now. I’d hate for you to hesitate and miss out on your dream job. If you can talk to your friends about us tonight, you could join us at our Long Island retreat this weekend.”    

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

In the van, Peter was annoyed and impressed by his consultant. The extravagant praise of the fabulous meal was annoying, even though the playfulness of it reassured Peter that whatever had been bothering Neal wasn’t interfering with his ability to do the job. Getting the names of Adler employees who had joined the club was impressive.

Equally impressive was getting to talk to Isaac Dixon. In the earlier investigation they had rarely been able to talk to Dixon or to anyone at his level. Dixon had only given the FBI access to representatives like Wendy Bates, who did seem to be legitimate career counselors and who acted convincingly puzzled by the Bureau’s allegations.

Today Dixon was doing a hard sell on getting Neal to Enscombe that weekend, saying, “I can’t emphasize enough the value our members get out of their initiation at our retreat. We make sure you meet a wide range of members and advisors who can help with your career.”

Peter expected Neal to take the impulsive route, accepting the invitation and then claiming he’d have to skip the therapy session he’d planned for Saturday. Already Peter was composing the speech he’d give Neal, ordering him to tell Highbury that he’d have to postpone. They’d invent an excuse for not being able to attend, maybe another commitment Nick had forgotten.

It was something of shock to hear Neal saying, “I’m sorry, but I have another commitment this weekend. It can’t be rescheduled.”

“The retreat’s open all week,” Dixon said. “We have a constant round of events every evening, with recreation available during the day. Why don’t you join us on Monday?”

Neal sighed. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure I need to attend a friend’s funeral early next week. They don’t expect him to live more than a day or two. After that, I’ll need your retreat. But I can’t make any firm commitments yet.”

After a brief pause, Wendy Bates offered her condolences, and said she’d be in touch with Neal early next week to see how he was doing.

“Byron,” Peter said on an exhale as he heard Neal say his goodbyes. “That’s what’s been bothering Neal since yesterday. I assumed it was Kate. Damn it, why didn’t he say something?”

“He was telling the truth about a dying friend?” Tricia asked.

Peter nodded. There had been something heartbreakingly calm in Neal’s voice when he mentioned the funeral. It was the shock of the newly bereaved. Peter remembered hearing it in his mother’s voice a couple of years ago when she’d gotten the news that her father had passed away. “That’s why June’s daughters were at the house last night, and why he was too distracted to call Henry. It all fits. I should have put it together before this.”

Tricia removed her headset. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Potentially reopening the Adler case is a massive undertaking. You’ve had a lot on your mind this week.”

A few minutes later, they heard a knock on the doors to the van, and Peter let Neal inside.

Neal looked surprised to see Tricia. “Where’s Jones?” he asked as he sat beside her.

Peter took Neal’s watch and deactivated the listening device. “He got a lead on the attorney who drafted the lease of Enscombe, and I told him to follow up on it. Neal, why didn’t you tell me about Byron?”

“I almost did.” Neal shrugged. “But it was a relief to escape from it at work. If no one knows, I don’t have to talk about it. It still keeps jumping into my mind, but at least once in a while it disappears and I have a moment of normalcy.” Neal ran his hands through his hair. “That’s selfish, isn’t it?”

“It’s human,” corrected Peter, who was increasingly glad that he’d pushed for Neal to get therapy. More than ever, the kid needed someone to talk to, and this emotional stuff wasn’t Peter’s strength. “Do you need to take some time off?”

“June said I should save that for the day of the funeral. And I’m glad to have the distraction of the case. It’s…” Neal trailed off when his cell phone vibrated. “It’s Henry.” When Peter nodded, Neal answered, told Henry who was with him, and put the phone on speaker. “Can we use the boat?”

“When do you need it?” Henry asked.

“Probably the last half of next week,” Peter said.

“Ok. That works. Pops had plans for the weekend, but after that we can be on our way.”

“Wait,” Neal said. “Why is your grandfather going along? You told me you sailed it alone when you were 15.”

“Well, it is his boat, and I just got the cast removed from my arm.”

“And?” Neal prompted. “What didn’t you tell me about the time you sailed the boat alone?”

“There may have been an incident with a sandbar that I neglected to mention. Regardless, for a trip this long, in the kind of weather we get this time of year, sailing alone isn’t recommended.”

“But your grandfather, of all people?” Neal said. “Doesn’t Graham Winslow hate the FBI?”

“If I want Winston-Winslow and the FBI to start getting along, I need to convince some of the older generation that this can actually work. His opinion will sway a lot of people, and there’s nothing like being part of a hands-on investigation to make Pops happy. By the way, Peter, that makes this an official service Win-Win is providing the FBI. You’ll have to sign a standard contract and pay us.”

“I understood Graham is retired from Win-Win,” Peter objected.

“He’s not involved in day-to-day operations, but he’s still on the board of directors. And I’ll have to turn down other work to help you with this case. Win-Win will expect compensation for my time.”

“Fine. Send the contract. I’ll take it through the channels for approval today.” Peter rolled his eyes, but noticed Neal’s grin. Maybe the kid was right. Keeping him busy and distracted might be the best thing for him. They said goodbye to Henry and Peter dove into the next question he had for Neal. “You kept mentioning Gil Goddard when you were talking to Dixon. Why?”

“Everyone Dixon mentioned as clients of Highbury reported directly to Adler and had significant responsibility. Gilbert was a member of that group. In fact, the few times Adler took a day off, he left Gil in charge. And each time I mentioned him, Dixon had this look of frustration. I think Highbury is offering its services to former Adler employees in order to find Gil.”

Peter asked Tricia for the Adler file. He found an organization chart and examined it. “Goddard was the corporate accountant. That’s not exactly who I’d expect to be left in charge of the company. And I remember he wasn’t the slick salesman type like the rest of Adler’s top executives.   Can you bring up our report on Goddard’s interview with the FBI?”

Tricia found the report in the FBI files and said, “Goddard was cleared after his initial interview. He was never brought back for further questioning.” She scrolled down and read further. “Our file attributes the interview and recommendation to drop Goddard from our radar to Agent Hitchum. I want to ask him for more detail, because his report definitely leaves something to be desired.”

“Do that,” said Peter. “Neal, what else can you tell us about Goddard?”

“You’re right that he wasn’t the slick, self-promoting type that Adler usually preferred. For the most part he recruited a young, high-energy team. Gil was in his 50s, the oldest member of the inner retinue. He was quiet, easy to overlook, but smart and trusted by Adler. If I wanted to find Adler, or Adler’s money, I’d start with Gil.”

Peter leaned back in his chair. “We’re talking about a networking club for job seekers, using their connections to reassemble Adler’s team, and possibly drugging them to get information. Does Highbury really think they can find Adler and his money ahead of the FBI?”

“It’s been more than six months since the last time our investigation was in the news,” Tricia said. “They may think we’ve given up. What if Highbury somehow discovered he’s the real owner of Enscombe? They would think they have a lead that the FBI doesn’t.”

“Then it’s a race to find Adler before they do,” Neal added.

“My gut’s telling me we’re missing some big pieces to this puzzle, but we have a solid start. Tricia, talk to Hitchum and add researching Gil Goddard to your list.” Peter stood, as much as he could in the confines of the van. “Let’s get back to the office.”

“There’s one more thing I should tell you,” Neal said.

Peter paused on his way to the front of the van. “What’s that?”

“I noticed a bulletin board at the entrance to the Highbury kitchen. One of the notices said they’re looking for staff at Enscombe. Waiters and bartenders.”

“We already tried sending Jones undercover as a bartender,” Tricia protested. “Their background checks were too thorough.”

Neal’s smile was wicked. “Oh, the person I have in mind won’t have that problem, and he’s an expert on alcohol and bartending. If anyone can learn what Highbury’s up to and be trusted to distract them while I crack a safe, it’s Mozzie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are sad times ahead for June and Neal. Fortunately Mozzie will make an appearance for comic relief. Next time I plan to post two chapters, getting us through the saddest parts and moving us back to the case, to angst about Neal’s childhood, and to the Peter – Neal relationship. Many thanks to Silbrith for edits in chapter 7 and for virtual handholding as I got through the upcoming sad scenes.
> 
> And for the Jane Austen/Emma fans: Character names Dixon and Bates came from Emma.


	8. Byron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve read the chapters leading up to this one, you know sad times are ahead for Byron’s family. If that’s trigger-y for you, then when you reach the point in this chapter where Mozzie leaves you may wish to skip to chapter 9.

**New York City, White Collar Division. Thursday afternoon. February 19, 2004.**

Peter and Jones looked up as Neal entered Peter’s office. “Ok. Mozz will apply for the bartender job at Highbury, but he won’t come to the Federal Building to talk about the case.”

“Why not?” asked Jones.

“He won’t meet with government employees unless he can sweep the location for bugs and hidden cameras first,” Neal said, as if this were perfectly normal behavior.

“He’s not going to give away his address,” Peter guessed. “Your place?”

Neal nodded. “He said he’ll be ready for us at 4:00.” He plopped into the chair next to Jones and put his feet up on Peter’s desk. “Alright. I’m here to help. What have we got?”

Peter swatted his feet down, concerned that Neal was being overly playful, maybe overcompensating for nerves he felt about going back to face Byron’s deteriorating state at the mansion. His best recourse was to keep the kid’s mind occupied with the case. “Start over, Jones.”

“I found the attorney who drafted the lease of Enscombe to Highbury Professional Connections. His name is Seamus Bickerton. He used to work for a law firm here in the city, but retired about a month after Adler disappeared.”

“I’d have expected Adler to use a younger lawyer,” Peter said. “As Neal pointed out, he had a preference for young minds.”

“Seamus is barely forty,” Jones said. “He came into some money, an inheritance according to the partners at the law firm, and moved to Boston. He deposited a million dollars into his bank account shortly before Adler disappeared, and a lot more a month later.”

“An incentive and a reward after Adler made a clean getaway,” Neal suggested.

“That’s my take,” Jones agreed. “The contract lists the owner of Enscombe as Perdue Incorporated. It’s a shell company that I traced back to a Vincent Perdue. I can’t find anything more than a social security number for him.”

“ _Perdue_ means lost in French,” Neal said. “That was Adler’s goal – to stay lost when he decided to disappear.”

“It’s a plausible story,” Peter said, “but not hard evidence. We can’t get a warrant with this. What else did you find, Jones?”

“Perdue also owns a Wilhelm Salvage. They search the coastline for sunken ships and dropped cargo. They’ve been operating at a loss, but somehow stay in business.” Jones opened a file and displayed a photograph. “This is Vincent Adler’s father. When we went after Adler initially, we didn’t spend much time investigating his family. He’s an only child, both parents deceased. But Adler’s father immigrated to the U.S. from Germany shortly after World War II.”

Peter asked, “What does this have to do with the salvage company?”

“Wilhelm was the name of Adler’s father. He spent most of his career in the U.S. working at a company that builds parts for submarines. There were rumors of Germany sending loot out of the country in U-boats toward the end of the war. What if Wilhelm Adler knew something about a ship that went down off the east coast of the United States, and told his son? It’s possible Adler will return when the salvage company finds what they’ve been looking for, because he’s made sure their operating costs are covered for the next decade. It’s hard to imagine Adler sinking his money into something like that unless he’s expecting a big return on his investment.”

“A good angle,” said Peter. “We can watch the salvage company but that lead could take years to pay off. Neal, you’re awfully quiet. What are you thinking?”

“I think Jones should go to Boston and talk to Bickerton.”

“I can’t,” Jones protested. “If I ask him about Adler or Perdue, he’s going to know we’re on to him. He’ll clam up, and might find a way get a warning to Adler.”

“Don’t talk to him about his client. Ask about Highbury Professional Connections. Tell him you think they’re using the estate for illegal purposes, and you want the owner’s permission to search Enscombe for evidence.”

Impressed, Peter leaned forward. “That’s good. With the owner’s permission, we don’t need a search warrant. Would he risk it, knowing that Adler was using the master suite?”

“He might not know Adler left anything behind,” Neal said. “And if he refuses permission to search the property, that refusal could draw suspicion. He won’t want the FBI looking into Enscombe’s owner.”

Jones nodded. “I could make that work.”

“Make it work over the phone,” Peter said. “That keeps it low key. For Adler we’d send an agent from New York. For a suspected blackmailer, a phone call asking for the estate owner’s contact information is sufficient. If Bickerton is still acting as Adler’s agent, he could grant permission on the owner’s behalf. And if he says no, we can still accumulate evidence to ask a judge for a warrant.”

Jones left to prepare for his conversation with Bickerton. Neal drifted toward the door, then turned around and said, “Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Mozzie has an interest in those U-boat rumors.”

“So?”

“Just be careful what you say around him.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“… or Hitler clones,” Mozzie was saying. He’d listed a dozen different theories of what might be in a sunken German U-boat, each wilder than the last.

Peter glared at Neal, who grinned and shrugged. “I warned you,” the kid said under his breath. Then he interrupted his friend. “Another glass of wine, Mozz?”

When Neal walked away to refill his friend’s glass, Peter dropped the glare. He wasn’t angry. His prior conversations with Mozzie had prepared him for this. Peter had walked into it willingly, aware that he and Neal were playing a game of sorts, and that Neal needed this moment of lightheartedness.

Peter had driven Neal home, and they’d entered the mansion together. June had asked Peter if he wanted to see Byron, the unspoken context being “one last time.” The vibrant man Peter remembered now lay in a hospital bed. Byron turned his head toward the voices around him, but couldn’t seem to form words. Peter walked to the bedside, announcing himself in the hopes that Byron remembered him, and thanked the man for acting as a mentor for Neal. He honestly didn’t think Byron followed what he was saying.

And Neal… Smooth-talking Neal stood stiff and tongue-tied at the doorway. When Peter nodded toward the bed, Neal walked over, took Byron’s hand and said, “Thanks, Byron. I’m going to bring fedoras back in style for you.”  

Peter was surprised to see Byron squeeze Neal’s hand. It seemed the man was more aware of his surroundings than he’d realized. Peter wasn’t sure if that made him glad, or sad. He thought maybe in Byron’s place he wouldn’t want to be aware. But no, he’d want to be able to hear El to the end even if he had to endure the pity of the people around him.

Neal had been silent on the way upstairs, and monosyllabic when talking to Mozzie. Peter gladly mentioned the U-boat theory to bring Neal back from whatever dark place his mind had gone.

Now Peter turned the conversation toward the investigation of Highbury, and the idea of sending Mozzie undercover as a bartender. They started building a resume for Dante Haversham, and even called El to ask if the gallery would give Dante a reference.

“Glowing reference!” the odd little man insisted while Peter spoke with his wife.

As Peter was ending the call, Mozzie said, “You aren’t usually home on Thursday evenings, Neal. When are you going to tell me where you go?”

Neal checked his watch and grabbed his phone. “Be right back,” he said, walking to the terrace. “Is Randy there?” he said as he closed the door behind him.

With Neal gone, Mozzie studied Peter. Suddenly he looked merely thoughtful rather than insanely manic. “We’re on opposite sides, and that’s never going to change as long as you’re a cog in the wheel of the patriarchal government overlords. But we’re both Neal’s friends. Will you help keep an eye out for him? Make sure he doesn’t spiral into a dark place when Byron dies?”

“Yeah. I’m planning to keep him busy with this case. That seems to help. Plus we’d already arranged for him to see a therapist this weekend about some other stuff. I assume she can talk to him about this, too.”

“What _other stuff_?” Mozzie demanded.

Unsure what, if anything, Mozzie knew, Peter kept it vague. “He’s had some flashbacks to events in his childhood. I need to make sure it won’t happen when he’s undercover.”

Mozzie’s eyes widened. “He told you about the abuse? He actually told you?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Peter protested. “I guessed.”

“I knew it! I knew he was abused. You don’t grow up in an orphanage and foster care and not learn to recognize the signs. But he’d never confirm it. This is why it will never work out with Kate. She has the same vibe. They each need someone whose damage isn’t the same as their own. I can’t believe he told you first.” Mozzie paused. “Or did he?”

“What are you getting at?”

“What type of mind-control techniques did you employ to make this _guess_?”

Not willing to dignify that question with an answer, Peter said, “So Neal goes someplace every Thursday evening that you don’t know about?”

“Oh I know where. I just don’t know _why_. Are you planning to use your mind-control techniques to extract that answer, too?”

Neal opened the door from the terrace as Peter protested, “For the last time, the FBI does not control anyone’s mind.” As Neal closed the door behind him, Peter said, “Tell him, Neal. Tell him I’m not manipulating your mind.

With a wink that let Peter know the game was still in play, Neal responded, “I hear and obey, master. Oops. Not supposed to say that outside the office, am I? I mean: yes, boss.”

“Ah-ha!” proclaimed Mozzie.

They convinced him they were kidding, and then put the finishing touches on their plans for Dante the bartender. Mozzie left, and Neal walked Peter back out to his car. When they were outside, Neal said, “Fedoras. That might have been the last time I talk to Byron, and all I could think of was fedoras. I’m an idiot.”

“For what it’s worth, I think he liked it,” Peter said. “And you could go back in right now and say something else.”

“I still don’t know what to say. It should be something profound, shouldn’t it? Conmen don’t do profound. We live on the surface.”

Peter sighed as he unlocked his car. “This isn’t my area of expertise, but try thinking like a friend instead of a con artist.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As Neal left for work Friday morning, he offered again to stay home if June wanted. But she said no and he went to the Federal Building, relieved to get away and disgusted that he felt relieved.

He threw himself into the case, reading through the transcripts of interviews with members of Adler’s team. He made note of suggested follow-up questions in case any of these people were interviewed again, and looked up where they were working now. He couldn’t find anything current about Gilbert Goddard, and the man’s past seemed like a bare outline. How had Agent Hitchum missed the red flags in Gil’s lack of background?

In the afternoon Neal reread all of the interviews by Hitchum, forcing himself to be objective. He didn’t like the agent, but the man wasn’t stupid. Most of the interviews were thorough, if heavy-handed. But the transcript for Gil’s was half the length of the others, and missed important, obvious questions.

Hitchum wasn’t incompetent. Something, or someone, had influenced him, caused him to dismiss Gil too quickly. Neal’s own father had been a dirty cop, and therefore the idea of an agent being on the take wasn’t hard for him to imagine. But maybe it was too easy for him to imagine. He knew what Peter would say: _We need more evidence._

How do you prove an FBI agent is… Neal’s train of thought was interrupted by his cell phone. It was June calling. The normally calm woman was sobbing, making it tricky to follow everything she said, but the message was clear. The nurse said Byron had only a few hours left. His hands were already cold. Could Neal come home?

Peter offered to drive Neal himself, but the agent was clearly in the middle of an intense conversation with Tricia about the case. “No, I got it,” said Neal, and he took a cab back to Riverside Drive.

June escorted Neal to Byron’s bedside. This time Neal didn’t let his mind get in his way. He laid a hand on Byron’s shoulder and said, “I’ll remember everything you told me. All of your advice. Even the parts I don’t understand yet. I’ll remember how happy you were, when you talked about your family. That’s…” Neal cleared his throat. “That’s what I want someday, and you showed me it’s not just a dream for guys like us.”

Then he moved away and took a seat on the sofa beside the oldest daughter, listening to Byron’s labored breathing. Eventually the room grew very quiet. The rasping ceased once and for all and June said, “He’s gone.”

A tiny part of Neal wanted to snap that she didn’t have to say it, that it was obvious. But mostly he felt numb.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

He stayed in the music room as a series of matter-of-fact individuals arrived to transport the body and gather the clothing Byron would wear for his funeral. Neal felt it would be rude to leave, but staying felt awkward, too. He’d almost gotten up the nerve to tell June he was going upstairs to his apartment when the maid walked up to him and said, “Mr. Caffrey, your aunt is here.”

He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. It was Friday evening. Noelle had sent an email days ago saying her flight would arrive Friday afternoon and she would stop by his home after checking into her hotel. They were supposed to go out for dinner.

Following the maid to the entry hall, Neal braced himself to see his mother’s identical twin sister. “You’re blonde,” he said in surprise.

Noelle smiled up at him. At five-foot six and wearing three-inch heels, she didn’t have to look up very far. She had his mother’s slender build, the same face, the same green eyes, but the dark hair he expected was replaced with waves of warm blond tresses. “Yes, I went blonde after the divorce. I was considering going back to brunette recently, but thought it might be easier for you if I didn’t look exactly like Meredith.”

Neal nodded.

“Is this your aunt?” Neal hadn’t noticed June approach, but here she was, taking Noelle’s hands and being the gracious hostess even in mourning.

“Yes,” Neal said. “Noelle Winslow, this is my landlady, June Ellington. It’s… She’s…” His mind faltered at any attempt of describing what had happened today.

“My son told me about Byron, and the maid told me he passed this afternoon,” said Noelle. “I’m so sorry for your loss, and to intrude at such a time. Would you mind if I stole Neal away for a little while? Or I can come back later, if you prefer.”

June laid a hand on Neal’s shoulder for a moment. “Take all the time you need.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

They went to a restaurant, ordered, and made desultory conversation as they ate. At the end of the meal Neal couldn’t recall a single word that they’d said. He reached for the check, and Noelle covered his hand.

He looked into her eyes, which seemed to see right into him. “Tell me,” she said.

“Tell you what?”

“There’s something running through your mind. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to think about it, but it won’t go away. Let it out. I won’t judge.”

His hand clenched under hers. Taking a deep breath, he stared at his fist on the table and said, “I didn’t want to be there.” Another deep breath, followed by a rush of words. “I didn’t know what to do. I always know what to do, what to say, and this time I had no idea. Like a total coward, I hoped it would happen while I was away. That I wouldn’t have to see it happen. But they called, and I came home, and I was there.”

“Was it disturbing?”

Neal finally looked up at his aunt. “One of his daughters described it as peaceful when she called family members to let them know. I guess it was. But it was… Yeah, it was disturbing. Every time I take a breath, or hear you breathe, I hear an echo of him during those last hours.”

“Are you sad?”

He pulled a credit card out of his wallet. “I should be.”

She took the credit card out of his hand and pushed it back across the table. She placed her own card on the bill, and an unobtrusive waiter whisked it away. “You’ll feel a wide range of emotions after the shock wears off. The shock is a coping mechanism, and it’s perfectly normal. You don’t have to feel guilty about not feeling anything right away. The emotions are still there, and they’ll rise to the surface soon enough.”

Neal frowned. “I don’t get why I’m in shock. I’ve known for weeks that this was coming. We knew this morning that it would be today. I knew when I left work that it was imminent. How much more prepared could I be?”

“Would you say you’re an optimist?” When Neal nodded, Noelle continued, “You had hope. To the very last second, some part of you believed that there was a way out, a way to save him.”

“There should have been,” Neal said, more vehemently than he expected. Some of the numbness was wearing away.

“Yes, sweetheart, there absolutely should have been. But you have to accept that there wasn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve read that grief hits different people in different ways. The reactions of Neal and others in this story are based on the experiences of my family last year, and I do wish Noelle had been there for us as we struggled with our own grief.  
> I’ve brought Neal to a low point here, but please keep reading. Life goes on and Neal’s friends will help him through this. Soon he’ll be undercover at Enscombe, driving Peter crazy and getting into trouble again.


	9. Therapy - The Facts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no expertise in therapy. The scenes with Noelle in this story are constructed to be dramatic, rather than realistic. And the drug she mentions is a figment of my imagination.

**New York City. Friday night. February 20, 2004.**

After dinner, Neal and his aunt Noelle took a cab back to her hotel. They arranged to meet the following morning, and then Neal decided to walk the rest of the way home. It was a cold night but dry, and Neal wanted the solitude of a long walk.

His cell phone buzzed, and he saw it was Peter. He should have called, he realized, to let Peter know Byron had died. And now he stared at the phone, undecided about whether to answer, until the call went to voice mail. He resumed walking.

About 15 minutes later the phone buzzed again. This time it was Henry. Neal still didn’t feel like talking, but he supposed he should answer or people would keep calling. “Yeah?” he said by way of greeting. “Did Peter call you?”

“He did,” confirmed Neal’s cousin. “I reminded him that Mom was arriving tonight and you were probably busy. Then I called her and she filled me in. I’m sorry about Byron. He was a great guy.”

“He was.” Neal continued walking.

“You ok?”

Neal sighed. “I had weeks, you know? Plenty of time to tell him how much I appreciated everything he’d done: all of his advice, letting me have the apartment for such a low rent, the way he cared about whether I succeeded. But I put it off. Instead I distracted him with songs or stories about things I’d done, or listening to his stories. I waited to the very last minute, and I have no idea if he heard me. Hell, I don’t even know if I was coherent.”

“He wanted that distraction. He needed it.”

“But just once I could have –”

“Don’t go there,” warned Henry. “You’ll never escape from the trap of _could haves_. He didn’t ask for more, did he?”

“No, but…” Neal ran his free hand through his hair as he stopped at a light. “I really don’t want to think about this. Can we talk about something else?”

Henry paused, and Neal half expected to be told avoidance wouldn’t help. But instead his cousin said, “Pops’ weekend commitment turned out to be only Saturday. We’ll head up starting Sunday, and probably get to New York Tuesday afternoon. If Peter’s available we’d like to meet with both of you for dinner to catch up on the case.”

“You can sail up here that fast?”

The answer to that was lengthy, involving an explanation that the boat was actually docked in Delaware, and a review of possible routes and stops on the way to New York. Neal didn’t have the sailing experience to follow it all, but imagining the trip with the ocean air and the rocking of the waves was a welcome distraction. He let Henry’s words wash over him until he reached the mansion and had to say goodbye. Henry said he’d call Peter, and Neal supposed he should offer to do it himself, but was glad to let Henry break the news of Byron’s death.

As soon as he opened the front door he heard the crying. The youngest of Byron’s daughters was in tears in the front room. Fortunately her husband was comforting her, and a moment later her older sister entered the room to offer an apology for something she’d said. Neal slipped upstairs without being noticed.

He changed out of his suit into something more casual and started to paint.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter had sent Jones and Tricia home before he tried calling Neal Friday night. It had been a hectic day and evening, as they hit the deadline Hughes had imposed for gathering enough information to tie Vincent Adler to their Highbury case. Following Neal’s suggestion, Jones had contacted Seamus Bickerton about the Enscombe estate and asked for the owner’s contact information. Jones had explained their suspicion that Highbury was conducting illegal activities on the property, and Bickerton had taken the bait. He wouldn’t provide contact info, but promised to get in touch with the owner. The attorney said he’d have a response for the FBI on Monday, and indicated he would recommend that Perdue Incorporated authorize the search. He also sent a copy of the lease to Jones.

The lease had proven that Kate did have inside information about the owner of Enscombe. She had been telling the truth when she told Neal the master suite had been reserved for the owner’s sole use through the end of February. That lent credence to her claim that Adler was the owner.

They were debating whether Bickerton really intended to contact the owner, and whether they could get a warrant for a tap or for his phone records, when the case took an unexpected twist. Jones had been monitoring the Nick Halden email address in case any new messages arrived from Highbury, and instead a message arrived from Bickerton. It said Halden’s “former employer” had recommended he contact Nick “to recover an item” and he needed to know if Nick could do it or recommend someone else who would be available in the next week. He also mentioned “Ancient Lyre” as a phrase that would convince Nick that this was a legitimate request from a client who could afford to pay very well.

Hughes had listened to the update on the case that evening with few questions. Peter concluded with, “Our main concern had been that Bickerton would grant permission to search all of Enscombe except for the master suite. But now it appears that won’t be an issue, since he’s unwittingly contacted an FBI employee to break into the safe we wanted to search.”

“You’ve done a good job. All of you,” Hughes said, with a nod to Jones and Tricia. “I’d still like to keep it quiet that we have an active lead on Adler. The man clearly has resources we weren’t aware of, and I don’t want to risk a leak that could jeopardize our case. Peter, can I have a word with you?”

The others left, recognizing the request as a dismissal. “You can trust them,” Peter said to his boss.

“They’re good people. But I want to talk about Caffrey. He’s deeply ingrained in this case. We wouldn’t have this lead without him, and it appears we can’t go forward without his participation. Just a few days ago you convinced me he shouldn’t go undercover without clearance from a therapist. Do you trust he’s ready to handle this assignment?”

“He has an appointment with a therapist on Saturday.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Peter promised he’d check with the therapist after that appointment. But although he didn’t admit it to Hughes, he did have concerns. A single appointment did not seem sufficient to deal with Neal’s childhood issues, and the situation with Byron only made things worse.

Now Peter waited at his desk for a return call from Henry. He grabbed the phone the moment it started to ring. “How is he?” he demanded.

“As good as could be expected,” said Henry. “Byron died late this afternoon. My mother arrived about an hour later, and took Neal out for dinner. She’ll keep an eye on him tomorrow. He doesn’t really want to talk right now, but that’s not unusual. He’ll need some time to take it all in.”

“What can I do?” Peter asked.

Henry sighed. “You’re one of those people who want to fix things, aren’t you? You aren’t going to like this. All you can do is be patient and give him space. Be willing to listen when he’s ready to talk, but don’t push him.”

“Does he need to take time off?”

“Not necessarily. He’ll probably want to dive into work to keep his mind occupied with something other than grief. Is this case I’m helping with one that can challenge him?”

“It involves going undercover to take down a criminal mastermind and cracking a safe.”

“Sounds perfect,” said Henry.

But Peter had doubts. How did he weigh the benefits of using this case to keep Neal distracted from grief – over losing Byron and over the realization that Kate may have been using him – against the risks that it would result in a drug-induced flashback that could endanger him?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Saturday morning Neal’s phone emitted the tone that indicated a text message. It distracted him from staring at his kitchen shelves for breakfast inspiration. He saw it was 9:00 already, and the text was from Peter: “Going to therapy today?”

When he thought about it, Neal was surprised that more than 12 hours had gone by since Peter’s last attempt to contact him. Henry had something to do with that, he guessed. Neal texted back: “Yeah.”

Neal knew as soon as he hit _send_ that he should have written more. Peter would have expected sarcasm or annoyance. The lack would worry him. And only seconds later Peter sent: “You ok?”

Neal considered saying _yeah_ again, but responded back with the more accurate: “Tired.”

Then he sat down to a bowl of cereal, which he stirred more than he ate, and was surprised to find an hour had gone by when Noelle knocked on his door at 10:00.

She didn’t hide her curiosity as Neal opened the door to his apartment. He noticed her perfume as she walked by, the same spicy scent his mother used to wear. “Can I have the tour?” his aunt requested, and he walked her around the space, including the terrace. Back inside, she stopped in front of the easel. The painting was almost complete, a study in blues with a slash of yellow pouring over the rest. “Give me the artist’s perspective on this one.”

“Byron and June are… were… music lovers. They especially loved Sinatra and jazz. The blue is a representation of the music, the harmony of their lives with its light and dark aspects. The yellow is the jarring note, the rending apart of their lives.”

“The way you’ve depicted it, it almost looks like the canvas was slashed, with light pouring through from the other side. It’s jarring, but not dark or depressing.” Noelle looked around the room, noting a set of canvases leaning against the wall. “You have some impressive work here, but this one is especially powerful.” She studied the piece on the easel a little longer. “It’s beautiful and haunting.”

Neal shrugged. “Painting calms the nerves.”

“It’s acting as art therapy, then.” She studied him as intensely as she had the painting. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Not much,” he admitted. After hours of painting, he’d tried to sleep with little success. And he didn’t want to mention the nightmare, the first one he’d had in weeks.

“Neal?”

He stopped staring at the painting to look at his aunt. Great. He’d lost his concentration and missed something. “I’m sorry.”

“I was asking how you spend a normal Saturday, sweetie.”

“I’d go to a museum or art gallery, grab lunch and then come back here to…” He swallowed. “I’d play the piano.”

Noelle laid a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”

Neal shook his head. “How did you want to start? Do we hold the session here?”

“No. Not here, and not yet. We need to return some normalcy to your life first. Take me to one of those museums or galleries.”

June approached them as they walked downstairs to tell Neal the funeral would be Tuesday. He promised to be there, and asked if she had selected a song.

“I considered ‘Young at Heart’ because he loved hearing you sing that, but a couple of days ago Byron suggested ‘Let It Be.’ I think… I think he knew that’s what I need to hear.”

“Then that’s what I’ll I do,” Neal promised. It was tempting to rush out, but he took a deep breath and asked the question that had popped into his mind when he told Noelle about his normal Saturdays. “June, do you want me to move out now that… now that Byron’s gone?”

His landlady’s eyes widened. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“When you told me about the apartment, you said you wanted someone who could distract Byron with music and appreciate his stories. Now that he’s gone…” Neal shrugged. “You don’t need me now, and you could make a lot more money renting the space to someone else.”

June crossed her arms. “Neal Caffrey, you listen to me. You are like family. If you aren’t comfortable here, you are free to leave whenever you want, but I am not about to toss you into the streets. Your home is here as long as you want it to be.” Her outrage was broken by a sniffle. She reached up kiss Neal’s cheek. “Now spend some time with your aunt. Maybe she can talk some sense into you.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After a stroll through the Channing museum and a leisurely lunch, Noelle recommended they use her hotel room for their first therapy session. She said using a neutral location would be better than having him associate his apartment with the painful memories they might cover.

They were only a few blocks from the hotel, and Noelle was willing to walk when Neal suggested it. He watched the people and traffic, slightly bewildered. “Nothing’s changed,” he said. “An incredible man is gone, and it didn’t even make a ripple.” He shook his head. “I know that people die every day and things go on the same as before. But this time it doesn’t seem right.”

Noelle squeezed his arm through his coat. “It doesn’t seem right or even conceivable to have a world without him. Someone should have figured it out, stopped the world, and fixed it.”

Neal looked at her in surprise. “Exactly. How did you know?”

“I lost my brother last summer. That’s how it hit me: that it was a mistake. It was unimaginable that the world could go on without him, and that people didn’t notice how _wrong_ it was. Such things couldn’t be allowed to happen in a well-ordered universe.”

Neal took her hand. “I wish I’d known my uncle David.”

“So did he, sweetheart. He regretted not getting to watch you grow up, and it’s a tragedy you weren’t able to meet him as an adult.” As they entered the hotel lobby she added, “I had experience with grief before last year. When the Marshals took you and my sister away, it was a tremendous loss. I thought I was prepared for the reality of never seeing either of you again, but it was still a huge adjustment. At first I kept thinking there should have been another way to deal with the danger you were in. I had to get past that before I could accept you were both gone.”

Noelle’s suite had a small living room with a sofa and generously-sized arm chair. After taking off their coats, Noelle directed him to the sofa, and offered him a bottle of water. She curled up in the chair. Before she could ask Neal about the abuse, he went on the offensive. “You’ve talked to Henry, and to my mom. How much do you already know about what happened to me?”

“I need to hear it all in your words.”

“I get it, but I want to know if you… if you know more than I do.”

“How could I?” Noelle countered. But when Neal simply stared at her, she sighed. “Henry guards his privacy and yours zealously. All he said was that you had experienced a childhood trauma and repressed part of it, and that he’s worried about you. You know I’ve managed to speak with your mother every year around Christmas since she went into WITSEC, against the wishes of the Marshals. The Christmas you were nine, she told me she’d dated someone who had hurt you. She admitted that her alcoholism had blinded her to what was going on for a while, and said that after he was out of her life, she went to rehab. She said it helped, but that she was still drinking occasionally.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “That’s all she said – that her boyfriend hurt me? She never gave more detail?”

“I don’t believe she meant to diminish the severity of what you suffered, Neal. She understandably wanted to put the experience behind her, and she wanted to protect me. When she mentioned it, you were a few months from your tenth birthday, and Henry had recently turned 12. Meredith knew that any details she provided I’d imagine happening to my own son. At the time I was grateful she spared me. Knowing what happened and being unable to do anything for either of you would have been torturous. I can’t tell you how much I regretted that I couldn’t be there for both of you. But now I can help you, and that starts with hearing your perspective of what happened.”

A sudden attack of nerves had Neal popping up to pace around the room. “Like Henry said, a lot of the memories are repressed. How are you supposed to help me deal with things I can’t even remember?”

“Some of those memories are coming back already, aren’t they?”

A snippet of last night’s nightmare replayed and he suppressed a shudder. “Yeah.”

“We start with talking through the parts you do remember, and the memories that are making their way back. Then we’ll see how to open the door to the rest.”

“How will you know I’m telling the truth?”

Noelle smiled. “I’m good at reading people. The more time we spend together, the more I’ll be able to identify the signs that you’re withholding something. And hopefully, the more you’ll trust me. Remember, all of this is to help you. The more open and forthcoming you are, the better and faster we can work through this.”

Neal perched on the arm of the sofa. “Why don’t therapists just get their patients roaring drunk and learn what you want that way?”

“While it’s true that alcohol reduces inhibitions, it’s not a truth serum.”

“But sometimes drugs are used in therapy,” Neal said.

“That’s more common in psychiatry than in psychology. And a standard truth serum doesn’t help you access repressed memories. There is a new drug that seems to bring down the walls patients have built around repressed memories, but that’s intended as a last resort. Therapists are still evaluating how a drug-based retrieval of memory affects the patient. It’s certainly not an experiment I want to try on you. Enough procrastinating, Neal. Sit back down and tell me about your mother’s boyfriend.”

Neal recited the story without emotion. Vance had worked at a local bank. He’d started dating Neal’s mother when Neal was in third grade, shortly after Thanksgiving. Sometimes he’d take Neal to a nearby park, where they played football or other games. And if Neal came back with a bruise, people smiled and said it was good the boy finally had a man in his life, someone who would encourage him to be active and roughhouse.

The more Vance became a fixture in their life, the more Ellen Parker made herself scarce, not wanting to intrude on her friend’s blossoming romance.

Around the end of January, Neal’s mother needed to go out of town a few days on a business trip. Normally Neal would have stayed with Ellen, but Vance volunteered to stay at the house and look after the boy. That’s when the bumps and bruises escalated from an annoyance to serious. Vance knocked Neal around when waking him up in the morning, careful to hit him around the ribs and belly, where the bruises wouldn’t be seen at school.

Soon after Meredith returned home from the business trip, Vance moved in with them. He took over the job of waking Neal in the morning, and of enforcing bath time. He was able to keep Meredith from noticing Neal’s bruises, and the violence escalated.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Noelle asked, bringing Neal back to the here and now.

“I’d wanted a dad for so long. And everyone kept saying how lucky we were to have Vance.” He shrugged. “For all I knew, it was normal. When people talked about how I’d been missing a man’s influence in my life, I assumed they knew exactly what his influence was and they were ok with it.”

“What happened next?”

Neal let his mind return to St. Louis in the late 1980s. “Eventually I was in serious pain. Bruised ribs became a normal part of my life. I started whining at night when he mentioned bed time. I didn’t want to go to bed, because going to bed and being woken up meant being hit. Mom didn’t notice, but one evening Ellen was over, and expressed concern. That night Vance started warning me not to complain, and not to tell anyone. He said if I told, he’d hurt my mom, too. From then on, it became part of the ritual. Before and after hitting me he’d make me promise not to tell, or he would hurt Mom.”

“How did your mother become aware of what was happening?”

“I think the first clue was when I started having nightmares. That was probably the middle of February. I have no idea what I screamed before they woke me up, but it must have worried Vance. After a week of that he said it had to stop, or he’d hurt my mom. I had to figure out how to stop having bad dreams. The only way I knew to do that was not to sleep.”

“That solution couldn’t have worked for long.”

“No, it didn’t. Within a few days I fell asleep in school. They assumed I was sick and took me to the school nurse, who called my mom to pick me up. It wasn’t easy for her to get away from work during the day, but Ellen’s schedule was more flexible, and Mom asked her to get me. Ellen took me to her house, where I fell asleep again and had one of the nightmares. It didn’t take her long to unravel the truth from there. She told mom to come alone to pick me up, and then showed her the bruises. Ellen told Mom I might have a fractured rib. They took me to a hospital to get an official exam on the record for evidence. Next thing I knew, Vance was out of the picture. Looking back, I’d guess Mom called the Marshals and they got rid of him.” Neal stretched, trying to loosen up muscles that had tightened with tension. “March rolled around, we celebrated my ninth birthday and thought we’d seen the last of Vance. But he reappeared in April.” Neal fell silent, lost in his memories of that time.

Noelle tolerated his silence for a couple of minutes. “You have to tell me, Neal. If you want that clearance to do undercover work for the FBI, we can’t stop now.”

Neal rubbed his face. “Maybe I’m having second thoughts about going undercover at Highbury. I’m not sure I can…” He trailed off. Suddenly his mind was making connections between the case and what Noelle had said at the beginning of their session. “We think Highbury is drugging their clients, getting them to reveal secrets that can be used for blackmail. The clients all blackout, and don’t have any memories of what happened to them. That’s why we suspect a drug as opposed to simply getting them drunk. Could the drugs used in therapy have that effect?”

“You know I’m not going to let this distract me from hearing the rest of your story.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re as stubborn as Henry. I get it.” Neal stood up and walked around the room once, stopping to stand in front of Noelle. “Humor me. Are there drugs you know of that could be used in that kind of blackmail scheme? If we could narrow it down, we could check for police reports of that drug being stolen and trace the thefts back to Highbury.”

Noelle closed her eyes a moment, appearing lost in thought. Then she focused on Neal again. “Yes.”

“And?”

“And, I will tell you about them after we finish this session.”

Neal huffed out a sigh of frustration, but returned to the sofa. He picked up one of the throw pillows and held it close. “In late April Vance cornered me when I cut through a wooded park on my way home from school. He knocked me down and broke my arm.” He clutched the pillow more tightly. “And that’s all I remember, until I woke up in a hospital. I know that Vance abducted me, and that I had several broken bones and fractures when I was found the next morning. I missed the rest of the school year, but they let me go into fourth grade with the rest of my class in the fall.” He paused. “Vance went to prison, and Henry did some research into the trial transcripts. He learned that a man tried to help me, and Vance shot him. Apparently in one of my flashbacks I said it was my fault he was shot. When I got out of the hospital, I stayed with Ellen for a few weeks while Mom went to her first round of rehab. I was enrolled in art classes to regain fine motor control in my arm, and to express the things I couldn’t or wouldn’t say about my experiences.” He’d been staring at the coffee table while he spoke, although he’d been seeing scenes from long ago. Now he looked up to face Noelle. “Your turn. Tell me about those drugs.”

She shook her head.  "That was a very well-rehearsed account of the facts, but this sessions isn't over.  Now we're going to talk about the parts you left out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come next week. Peter will be back in chapter 10 to check on Neal in person, and El will see Neal’s apartment for the first time. 
> 
> I can’t begin to thank Silbrith enough for beta work on these last two chapters. Her suggestions vastly improved chapter 9. She also predicts that reaction to Noelle will be varied, and I’m looking forward to what you think. Noelle had to be distant and professional in this latest scene, but she will be free to think and act like an aunt later.


	10. Therapy - The Emotions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no expertise in therapy. The scenes with Noelle in this story are constructed to be dramatic, rather than realistic. And the drug she mentions is a figment of my imagination.

**New York City hotel room. Saturday afternoon. February 21, 2004.**

After sharing the story of his childhood abuse, Neal was dismayed at the reaction of his therapist, who had just accused him of withholding information. “I told you everything,” he insisted. “Everything I can remember.”

Still in cool, professional therapist mode, his aunt Noelle said, “You told me a series of events. That’s a good start, but therapy involves your emotions around those events.”

“Can’t we cover that next week?”

“We’ll be covering that for several weeks, but we’re going to make a start now. Let’s start with Vance.”

Neal made the mistake of believing that talking about Vance would be easy. His feelings about the man were straightforward enough. From the beginning he’d disliked and distrusted the man who had abused him. At the insistence of his mother he’d been polite, but had held to one small act of rebellion: he refused to call Vance _Dad_.

But that led Noelle to the topic of father figures. Soon Neal was telling her about the gifted art teacher who had stolen and sold Neal’s best reproduction work as a forgery when Neal was a teenager. And then he admitted his third father figure had been Robert Winslow – Henry’s father. He described trying to win Robert’s approval, only to be tricked into committing a crime. Robert had kept the evidence and used it to blackmail a 21-year-old Neal into parting ways with his cousin Henry. Other than a raised brow, Noelle refrained from comment about the references to her son and ex-husband.

“I’m sorry,” Neal said when he had finished talking about his experiences with Robert.

“Why?”

“Well, Robert… You married him. You must have had feelings for him. It feels weird to trash him in front of you.”

“He’s my ex for a reason. And we aren’t here to talk about my feelings. Did you have another father figure in the years that followed?”

“Sort of.” The next man who claimed to be a father figure in Neal’s life had been Vincent Adler. Neal stressed that while he had learned a lot from the man and admired his strategic thinking, he hadn’t formed a strong emotional attachment toward him. “Shortly before he disappeared he said something about me being like a son, and at that point I started to distrust him.”

“That was nearly a year ago,” Noelle noted. “Do you have a new father figure in your life now?”

“Yeah.” Neal desperately wanted to avoid talking about Peter. “I’m really… I’m not ready to talk about him.”

“Why is that?”

“Listen, I know my father figures have been messed up. You’re going to start asking me what’s wrong with this one. I would in your place. But I got it right this time, I swear. Even Henry approves of him. I just… Please, let me keep this one. I’ve lost Byron. I think I’m losing Kate. Let me keep Peter a little longer.”

Noelle seemed to melt a little bit. “It isn’t my role to take anything away from you, Neal, and I’m sorry if it feels that way. We can wait to talk about Peter.” She directed the conversation toward Ellen Parker, and listened as Neal described the woman as a hero, a rescuer who had uncovered the truth about the abuse and who had kept Neal safe while his mother was in rehab. He said he felt no resentment about the time it had taken Ellen to realize that he was being abused. “And what about your mother?” Noelle asked. “Do you resent her role in your abuse?”

Neal frowned. “She didn’t abuse me.”

“She didn’t prevent the abuse. She introduced the abuser into your life and didn’t notice what was happening to you. How does that affect your emotions toward her?”

“I was angry that she spent more time drinking than taking care of me. It seemed like she loved beer more than me. After it was over, I didn’t trust her to take care of me. I knew I had to look after myself.”

“You didn’t view her stints in rehab as choosing to be a better mother?”

“Maybe if it had worked. But she never stayed dry for long. If I was supposed to be her motivation to stop drinking, then I failed.” Neal caught Noelle’s expression. “I know, I know. It wasn’t my failure. Alcoholism is a disease and no one is to blame. I get it. I didn’t trust her, but I loved her.”

Noelle nodded. “When Vance threatened to hurt her, you obeyed rather than endanger your mother.”

“Right.” Neal grabbed the bottle of water, and as he drank he was grateful Noelle hadn’t picked up on the other emotion his mother motivated: terror. “We’ve covered all the players in my little childhood drama. Can we talk about the drugs Highbury could be using?”

“There’s one more character to discuss today,” Noelle said. “Do you resent me, or your mother’s family in general, for not being there for you?”

“At the time I didn’t even know you existed,” Neal protested. “That was a condition of being in WITSEC, that Mom couldn’t tell me we had any living relatives.”

“But you’ve known about us for a few years now.”

Neal leaned back in the hotel sofa and closed his eyes a moment before saying, “You know Trent Lombard came to talk to me last month.”

“Yes. As your uncle David’s best friend and as your godfather, he played a part, too. And he wasn’t always happy about his part. I was your godmother, and the two of us had massive disagreements about whether you should go into WITSEC with your mother, or go with David and his family when he was deployed overseas. In the end I won out. I was certain it was best for you and your mother to stay together. I’m asking how you feel about that.”

“Things might have been better growing up as David’s foster son, but who knows? There’s evil everywhere. If not Vance hitting me in St. Louis, it might have been someone else hurting me on an Air Force base. Maybe someone worse. We could talk what-ifs all day and it won’t change the past.”

“And you still avoided talking about your feelings.”

“I don’t know what I feel toward you, ok? I don’t even know you. If you want forgiveness, then fine. Henry says you’re a decent person and I believe you meant the best for my mom and me. Now can we finish this and get back to how Highbury is getting blackmail information from their clients?”

“And you think I’m stubborn. I wish you could feel more open with me, and not edit yourself, but you’ve done well for a first session. I can see you need to stop. I won’t push you for more today. But we will return to some of these subjects again next week.” Noelle had seemed perfectly calm throughout the session, but as she relaxed Neal could see the tension leaving her body. She put her feet up on the coffee table and let herself slouch. “The drug I’d use for that kind of blackmail scheme is informally known as Flashback. It has some properties of a truth serum, and also targets negative emotions, particularly the kind of fear that constructs and maintains a wall around bad memories. With those emotions relaxed, it’s easier to approach and express those memories in therapy. For someone who isn’t suffering from repressed memories, it would simply allow him or her to feel comfortable talking about topics they normally avoid.”

“Things they could be blackmailed for.”

“That’s right. And a side effect of the drug is a blackout accompanied by a lack of concern about the lost time.” Noelle grabbed a sheet of paper from the side table and a pen, and wrote down a name. “Here’s the medical name of the drug. That’s what it would be called in a psychiatrist’s office or in a police report. Henry can tell you who manufactures it. He’s done some research into it.”

“Why would he research something like that?”

“He said it was for Win-Win. I’ve avoided the company as much as I can ever since the divorce, so I didn’t ask for details.”

Neal wondered if Winston-Winslow was looking into Highbury, too. If so, why hadn’t Henry mentioned it when they asked to use the sailboat for a surveillance of Enscombe?

Because, Neal realized, he hadn’t mentioned Highbury or Enscombe when he’d spoken to his cousin. They weren’t planning to share those details until Henry and Graham Winslow got to New York. If the FBI and Win-Win had overlapping investigations, life could become very complicated. Fortunately, Henry and Neal specialized in complicated. Maybe they could use this to end the feud between the FBI and Win-Win. Unless, of course, things went wrong and they made it worse. Then one or both of them might be out of a job.

“This is going to get interesting,” Neal said. “Now I need that statement from you that I’m ready for undercover work.”

“Neal, sweetheart, I don’t think you are. Especially if that undercover work involves being exposed to a drug like Flashback.”

Neal nodded. “It’s your call. The deal was that you provide a statement clearing me for undercover work after our first session, and then I’ll continue meeting with you every week. If I don’t continue, you can rescind your approval. If you don’t keep your part of the bargain…”

“Then you don’t continue with therapy.”

“Are you going to sign a statement for my FBI file or not?”

“Fine. You need therapy, and I’m going to make sure you get it. But approach this case you’ve described with caution, Neal. It would be a very bad idea for you to take Flashback without a professional therapist there to help you navigate the memories you’ll recover.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter called June Ellington Saturday afternoon to offer his condolences. She mentioned that many family members and friends were converging on New York for the funeral, and she had decided to hold an open house Sunday evening for all of them to gather and remember Byron. Peter and Elizabeth would be welcome, she said. Eager for an excuse to see how Neal was doing, Peter accepted the invitation.

As much as Peter wanted to look for Neal immediately, he had to be patient. El had never visited the Ellingtons’ home before, and needed a few minutes to ooh and aah over the stunning mansion. Then she started to recognize some of the guests, pointing out legendary jazz musicians. Finally she looked at her husband and said, “Go ahead, Peter. I know you’re worried about Neal.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, to be certain he wouldn’t be in the dog house later.

“Honestly, I’ll enjoy myself more if you aren’t tagging along checking your watch every two minutes because you don’t know the first thing about music. I’m going to talk to some inspiring people, offer my condolences to June if I can find her in this crush, and then I’ll meet up with you again.”

“Love you, hon,” Peter said, and went on the hunt for his consultant.

To his surprise, he heard Henry’s voice. Wasn’t Neal’s cousin supposed to be on a sailboat between Baltimore and New York? But the familiar voice was saying, “It’s one of the best I’ve ever encountered. Go ahead, try it.” The young man leaned against the grand piano, his back to Peter. “Admit it. You miss this when you stay at a hotel. Play something.”

“Henry, behave,” said another familiar voice. Noelle Winslow. To Peter’s surprise, she was blonde.

Even more surprising, Noelle’s son chuckled and said, “You called me Henry.”

Noelle punched his arm while saying, “No wonder Robert hated you. You must have scared him to death. Stop it, Neal.”

Peter had reached them and said, “Neal?” The young man turned around. He had Henry’s posture and insouciant grin, with Neal’s blue eyes. Peter realized he’d never seen Neal deep in a con, playing another person. It was a little terrifying. Peter grabbed his sleeve and pulled him toward a quiet corner. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Same as you,” Neal said with a shrug, still in a perfect impersonation of his cousin. “Paying my respects.”

“Why are you conning people into thinking you’re Henry?”

“I haven’t lied to anyone, Peter. They all know me by my real name. But big family gatherings are more in Henry’s comfort zone, so I thought: why not? He’s better at this. And it’s working.”

Peter put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I cannot believe this is a good idea.”

“Avoidance rarely is,” confirmed Noelle, who had followed them. “Neal, you need to stop playing a role and face how you feel about losing your friend.”

“Later,” Neal promised.

“Now,” Peter insisted. He placed his hands on Neal’s shoulders. “Neal, stop this act.”

“I’m not going to –”

“Neal!” Peter interrupted. When Neal met his eyes, Peter took a deep breath and played his best card.  “Son. Come back to me.” He waited to see if calling Neal _Son_ for the second time would be as effective as it had been in early January.

Neal shuddered. The Henry façade slipped away. Instead of Henry’s indolent grace and mysterious expression that promised he was seven moves ahead of you in a game of chess, Neal’s own self appeared. His posture adjusted from Henry’s deceptive relaxation to his normal state. In Peter’s opinion, Neal’s default body language telegraphed a youthful readiness to jump into action, and his laughing eyes normally indicated that action would be tied to mischief. Now his eyes provided glimpses of a myriad of emotions, transitioning from surprise to joy to annoyance and finally filling with an uneasy grief.

Noelle gasped lightly at the transformation.

“Welcome back, kid,” Peter said, relieved it had worked.

Neal pulled away, turning to gaze out the window. But Peter could see his face reflected in the glass. “Did you have to, Peter? It wouldn’t have been much longer.”

“Yeah, I had to. You don’t have to stay here, you know. If you’re uncomfortable, go back to your apartment. Don’t become someone else.”

“He’s right,” Noelle said. “Some people find comfort in gatherings like this. Those who don’t shouldn’t force themselves to stay. You can say goodbye in your own way. With your art, for instance.” She stepped forward to hug Neal. “Don’t torture yourself. Go upstairs. We’ll talk again later.” She let him go.

With one last glance at Peter, who nodded, Neal made his way toward the staircase. When the kid was gone from sight, Peter turned his attention to Noelle. “I’m Special Agent Peter Burke. We’ve spoken on the phone, when you were trying to contact Henry.”

She nodded. “Neal works for you?”

“That’s right. And…” How on earth did he explain this to a psychologist who also happened to be Neal’s aunt? She’d heard him refer to Neal as _Son_. “And obviously he’s more than an employee. A few months ago he introduced me as his stepfather, as a joke. He had the flu or some kind of virus, was running a serious fever and we were out of town. I looked after him and things sort of… evolved. I’ve never met someone with so much potential, and it’s become my mission to see him take his talents in the right direction.”

“I understand.”

“You do?” Peter couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

Noelle grinned. The mischievous expression seemed to be a Caffrey family trait. “No, but I’ll work on it.”

After a quick scan to make sure no one was listening in, Peter said, “I know you have to maintain patient confidentiality, but can you tell me if Neal is going to be alright?”

She had a faraway look for a moment as she considered her answer. Then she looked directly at Peter, with piercing green eyes. “I can’t go into details, but I’ll say that it’s in Neal’s hands. I can help him, but therapy is most effective when the patient admits that he needs it. I don’t think Neal is there, yet. But I have hope he’s moving closer to that realization. That will represent a huge leap in his progress.”

Peter agreed, although he’d have appreciated a more direct answer that included something he could actually do to help Neal make that leap. Then his mind wandered in another direction. “I knew Neal impersonated Henry occasionally, but I didn’t realize he had it down to the point that I’d be fooled. Am I overly concerned, or was that scary?”

“I’m not sure what to make of it,” Noelle admitted. “I had no idea he could do that.”

“Do you think Henry impersonates Neal, too?” Peter wondered.

“If they’ve spent enough time together for Neal to perfect a Henry impersonation, it stands to reason… You know, I think I’d like a drink.”

“Yeah, me too.”

When Elizabeth tracked Peter down at the bar, he introduced Neal’s aunt and then asked, “Are you ready to go?”

“I’d hoped to say hello to Neal, first. Did you find him?”

“Yeah. He went back to his apartment,” Peter said. Noticing El’s disappointment, and still concerned about Neal himself, he offered to show her the way.

“Are you sure he won’t mind? I don’t want to disturb him if he needs to be alone right now.”

“If he doesn’t want to talk to us, we’ll leave,” Peter promised.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Noelle asked. And so the three of them walked upstairs together.

It took longer than Peter expected for Neal to open the door. But seeing that he now wore black jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, Peter assumed he’d been changing clothes when they knocked.

“Neal,” said Elizabeth as he opened the door, “I’m sorry to intrude. I just wanted to see you for a moment before we left.” He gestured them inside and as they entered the apartment she continued, “We didn’t have much of a chance to talk the last time you came to our house, and I’ve been meaning to invite you to visit the gallery where I work. I’d love to continue our discussion about art sometime when you…” She trailed off as she noticed the canvases leaning against one of the walls, and another on the easel. “Are these all your work?”

He nodded.

“May I?” El gestured toward the wall.

He shrugged. “Go ahead.” He remained in the center of the room, arms crossed as he watched El study his work. Noelle followed Elizabeth. Peter remained near the door and studied Neal. After a couple of minutes, Neal suddenly glanced at the terrace. By the time the draft hit Peter, Neal was halfway to a door which had been slightly ajar. He moved so silently and unobtrusively that the women hadn’t even noticed him cross the room and shut the door.

_Cat burglar_ , Peter thought. Neal moved like one, and was dressed like one, too. It gave Peter misgivings, and he walked over to the terrace doors to talk. “You look a little tired,” he started. Neal simply looked at him. “If you want to sleep in Monday, skip the morning briefing, that’s fine.” Still no response. He tried another approach. “We made some progress after you left Friday. Hughes gave us the green light to continue looking into Adler, and I think Bickerton will agree to let us search Enscombe for evidence of Highbury’s blackmail scheme.”

“Even the master suite?”

Peter suppressed a sigh of relief that the kid was finally talking to him. “Bickerton sent a message to your Nick Halden email address, asking for your help retrieving the contents of the safe. Everything’s falling into place, thanks to you.”

Instead of looking flattered, Neal leveled a challenging look at Peter. “I’ve got a clearance from Noelle that I can handle undercover work.”

Considering that news for a moment, Peter asked, “What conditions did she tack on to that clearance?”

That deflated Neal a bit. “I have to continue weekly sessions with her.” He turned to watch El and Noelle studying his art, and after a pause said, “Downstairs, earlier… Why did you call me that?” He looked at Peter out of the corner of his eye. “Why did you call me _son_?”

“Because you scared the hell out of me, Neal. You were standing right there in front of me, but you were gone. I wanted to make sure I could reach you. I wanted…” Peter collected his thoughts. “I wanted to let you know I care.”

Neal faced Peter again. “Hearing it… After not having a real father in my life, it was a fantasy to have someone like you want me as a son. Hearing you say it makes me want to do anything for you. I don’t like the idea of someone having that kind of power over me. That isn’t me.”

“What isn’t?” Peter asked.

“Obedient.”

Peter laughed. “That isn’t exactly news. And obedience isn’t what I want from you.” Seeing Neal’s skeptical expression, he added, “I admire your intelligence and the unique ideas you bring to the table. I’m not looking for blind obedience or group think, and I respect your right to make your own decisions. On the other hand, I’m glad I can shake you up a little when you’re doing something that’s going to get you into trouble. You know, put the brakes on before things reach the point where I have to arrest you. Or in this case, before I have to toss you to Noelle to analyze whatever’s going on in your head.”

A shadow of a smile crossed Neal’s face. He uncrossed his arms. “She’s the most –”

“Neal,” El interrupted. She pulled him into a conversation about a few of his pieces, and then announced they had intruded on his time long enough.

Peter followed the women downstairs and listened as Noelle asked Elizabeth’s opinion of Neal’s art.

“Most of the paintings along the wall were created as practice pieces,” El explained. “They’re originals, but each strictly within the style of a master. It’s a common technique for a student, but Neal doesn’t need to hone his skills in that area. He’s already capable of forging masterpieces. The most interesting of the set along the wall is the third one from the left. It’s a combination of an impressionist style, a Monet I’d say, with a modernist sensibility. It’s a completely unexpected palette. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Do you think he has what it takes to make a living as an artist?” Noelle asked.

“The painting on the easel convinced me that he could. It doesn’t entirely adhere to any existing style, making it a fascinating glimpse into a new artist exploring his own voice. If he had a few more pieces like it, he could be ready for an exhibit.”

They reached the bottom of the staircase and June met them, but it was obvious that other guests wanted her attention and they didn’t linger. As they stepped outside Noelle asked, “Where did Neal train as an artist? I didn’t have a chance to ask where he went to school.”

“He didn’t,” said Peter. When Noelle looked shocked he said, “He ran away before he finished high school, remember? But he said he helped Henry with his master’s degree.”

“Henry’s master’s degree? In psychology?”

“That’s right,” Peter confirmed.

Noelle narrowed her eyes. “And he acted like he didn’t know what to expect in therapy. Next time I won’t go so easy on him.”

Peter didn’t want to be in Neal’s shoes when Noelle got her hands on him. For that matter, he didn’t want to be in Henry’s shoes when Noelle realized her son shared the blame for failing to disclose a few relevant facts about Neal.

“You know,” Noelle continued, “I think I’m going to stay in New York for Byron’s funeral. Then I can be here if Neal needs support.” Her voice turned menacing. “And I can also have a little chat with Henry when he arrives.” She turned to shake El’s hand. “It was lovely meeting you, Elizabeth. I’ll plan to stop by the gallery in the next day or so. I’d like to learn more about supporting new artists.”

Peter and Elizabeth watched Noelle hail a taxi, and then faced each other.

“I like her,” said Elizabeth.

Peter nodded, but he was starting to think all Caffreys were slightly insane. Especially because he’d just seen Neal scale down the side of the mansion. With his dark hair and clothing, Neal disappeared into the shadows, and Peter suppressed an FBI agent’s ingrained urge to give chase. He needed to trust Neal wasn’t a criminal anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to acknowledge everyone who posted comments or sent PMs about their own experiences with grief or abuse after reading chapters 8-9. You inspire me.
> 
> Many thanks to Silbrith, beta-reader extraordinaire, who had excellent suggestions for this chapter. Next week in chapter 11 we’ll let Neal have a little fun. And the week after that we’ll have the funeral, followed by the arrival of Henry and his irascible grandfather to “help” the FBI.


	11. Escape Artist

**Outside June’s mansion. Sunday evening. February 22, 2004.**

Hanging by his fingertips from the fire escape that led down from his terrace, Neal jumped, taking care to land on a patch of grass that muted the sound of his feet hitting the ground. The guitar case bumped against his back. He could hear his aunt’s voice. He couldn’t make out the words, but Noelle seemed to be saying goodbye to the Burkes and then hailed a cab.

Neal could have sworn Peter saw him. He slipped deeper into the shadows, half expecting the FBI agent wouldn’t be able to resist investigating. But the man put an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders and walked in the other direction.

Instead of appreciating the chance to make a getaway, Neal couldn’t stop thinking about the show of trust Peter had made. Maybe it was time to return the favor.

“Peter!” Neal called out, running after the couple. They paused and turned to face him. “Are you driving back to Brooklyn?” he asked them.

Peter nodded. “I’m parked a couple of blocks away. Do you need a ride?”

“If you don’t mind. It’s on your way.”

“C’mon,” Peter said. As he resumed walking Peter confirmed Neal’s suspicion that the agent had seen him climb down the side of the building. “Why the dramatic exit?”

“Leaving with a guitar would gather a lot of attention, especially from that crowd. A lot of Byron’s old friends are into music. I don’t have a lot of time, didn’t want to get into a lot of explanations, and…” He shrugged rather than continue.

“You want to stay in practice,” Peter supplied.

“The FBI hired me for my skills,” Neal countered. “And I want to keep my winning record for Tuesday Tails.”

Peter explained to El the team’s custom of tailing Neal over the lunch hour on Tuesdays to refine their skills.   He wrapped up as they got settled into the car and he started the engine. “Where to?” he asked.

Neal supplied an address and added, “Theo Guy’s recording studio. Michael Darling’s in town and he asked me to meet them there for a rehearsal.” Michael Darling, music professor, composer and former member of alternate rock group Local Devastation, had needed the FBI’s help right after Peter had offered Neal the immunity deal. Working that case had convinced Neal that he could make the transition to Peter’s side of the law. In gratitude, Michael had invited Neal to join an upcoming recording session where Local Devastation lead singer Ty Merchant would try out some of Michael’s songs for a new solo album, to be produced by their old group’s lead guitarist, Theo Guy. The chance to hang out with idols of Neal’s teen years had been too tempting to pass up. He’d been counting the days until this session since early December. Glancing at the rear view mirror, Neal saw Peter’s indulgent smile and realized he’d been rambling in response to a question from Elizabeth about how he’d gotten the chance to hang out with rock legends. “I know the timing’s bad, with Byron. That’s part of the reason I bypassed the front entrance, rather than strolling down the stairs and announcing I’m on my way to do something purely fun.”

“I think the timing’s perfect,” said Elizabeth. “You need some fun right now. Don’t feel guilty that something good is happening to you.”

“Noelle said avoidance is bad,” Neal argued.

“And so is wallowing,” she said. “Don’t ignore your sorrow, but don’t let it take over your life either. Try to find a balance.”

“Here we are,” said Peter as he stopped the car at the address Neal had given. Neal had gone by the location previously to check it out, and knew it was a nondescript building in a nondescript block. It was what was inside, who was inside, that made it special. “Nervous?” Peter asked as Neal kept staring at the building from the back seat.

“Yeah,” Neal said, too absorbed in his thoughts to dissemble.

Then El shocked him by saying, “I feel like we’re dropping our child off for his first sleepover. You’re going to be fine, Neal. They like you. They made a point of inviting you to join them. Go enjoy yourself.”

Before Neal could respond Peter added, “You aren’t alone anymore. You have a support system: me, El, June, Henry and Noelle, even Trent Lombard, and probably your grandparents soon. Not to mention the people who have your back at work. This is what I wanted for you when I asked you to give up crime and join my side. Like El said, enjoy yourself, and trust us to catch you if you fall. That’s what we’re here for.”

Neal stared at him. “Yeah, um…” He was a loner. The idea of all these people Peter mentioned being part of his life was tantalizing and overwhelming. He simply couldn’t process it. Instead he turned on his most mischievous grin, and said, “Thanks, Dad.” Then he slipped out of the car.

Neal planned to treasure every moment of working with Michael, Ty and Theo tonight. At times during the first half of the evening they asked him to perform portions of Michael’s new songs, while they listened and considered tweaks to the melody or lyrics. When Ty was ready to try performing the songs himself, Neal was honored to provide backup.

Neal was good, very good, at music. He knew that. But hearing praise from this group of people was a thrill, even as he accepted that he was a hobbyist. Music would always be part of his life, a joy and an escape, but he wasn’t meant to do this for a living.

Hours after he arrived, as Michael and Ty were packing up their things, Theo approached Neal with some paperwork. “Even though this was a trial run, there’s a chance that some of what we recorded tonight will make it onto Ty’s next album. I need you to sign a release that you’re ok with having your performance included if that happens.” Neal looked at him in shock. Theo continued, “We’d also pay you. Not a lot, but anything helps, right? And of course we’d list your name in the album credits.”

This was entirely unexpected, but gave Neal an idea. “I can use a pseudonym, right?”

“For the credits, sure. To pay you we need a legal name.”

“Fine.” Neal signed.

Theo looked at the name Neal had used. “You know, there used to be a musician who went by that name. Hey, Ty!”

Ty stopped talking to Michael. “Yeah?”

“You remember a Neal Legend?”

Ty shrugged. “Lyrics I remember, names not so much.”

“I remember him,” Michael said. “The name anyway. He and his brother performed as the duo Urban Legend. I never met them, and I don’t think they ever made an album. But I’d hear about them on the circuit.” He paused a moment. “He dropped out of sight a few years back. There were rumors he had died or was dying. I heard a lot of versions of that story, but the most common was that he had brain cancer.”

Theo turned back to Neal. “I guess you’re ok to use the name. If I get any flak, I might ask you to pick a different pseudonym. You provided your contact info, right?”

Neal nodded. “Cell phone and email address.”

“Good. I might give you a call sometime, if you’re interested in joining other recording sessions.”

“I’d be flattered, but there are a lot of talented people out there,” Neal said. “New York is filled with people who want this kind of work.”

“Tons of ‘em,” Theo agreed. “But not many are talented and dependable. Michael says you always showed up when he needed you in St. Louis.”

After thanking them once more for letting him join their rehearsal, Neal grabbed his guitar and made his way out before Theo could scan down the remainder of the contract to see that the legal name he’d listed for compensation was a cancer research group.

But he didn’t make a clean escape. There were no taxis in sight. Neal had started walking toward the nearest subway station when Michael Darling called out an offer to ride with him. The record company had provided a chauffeur. Fortunately Michael’s hotel was the first stop and it wasn’t a long ride, but he still had time to ask Neal, “Did you know the members of Urban Legend?”

Neal shrugged. “Misspent youth. I met a lot of people before I settled down in New York.”

“I think you said that was about three years ago? That would have been around the same time Neal Legend disappeared. Do you think maybe he was sick of the music business, rather than physically sick?”

“That’s unlikely. How many 22-year-olds would give up the music business if they had a choice?”

“Right,” was Michael’s only response. When Michael got out at his hotel and the driver continued to Riverside Drive, Neal tried calling Henry. But of course Henry was on a sailboat somewhere in the Atlantic and probably out of range of any cell towers. Neal decided against leaving a message, but knew they needed to talk. Henry’s plans to trap a corrupt record executive hinged on making the right people believe that Neal Legend had survived. Tonight Neal had contributed toward that plan, but the timing might not have been what Henry wanted.

Understanding the need for secrecy, Neal had never told anyone about Henry’s plans to bring down Masterson, but it was a scheme Byron would appreciate, and with his own musical interests he might have suggestions for them to consider. Maybe…

And suddenly Neal’s elation was replaced with a wave of sadness that hit him like a physical blow. There would be no more swapping stories with Byron Ellington. The man was gone. Forever.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Monday everything was falling in place for the Highbury and Adler cases. Knowing Neal would be out for the funeral on Tuesday, Peter had focused on the things he needed his consultant to do. They’d decided Thursday would be the best day for Nick Halden to visit Enscombe, and had Neal fill out the forms as Nick to join Highbury and schedule his initiation.   Also as Nick, he’d called Seamus Bickerton and agreed to break into the Enscombe master suite safe. He’d assured the lawyer that he already had an “in” to Enscombe and guaranteed he’d get to the safe ahead of the FBI. They even arranged a meet in Boston on Friday, where Nick Halden would personally deliver the contents of the safe to Bickerton.

Depending on what they found in that safe, they might use the meet to arrest and pressure Bickerton into providing information about Adler. Or they might let the man go and keep an eye on him, if they decided he’d be more likely to lead them to Adler if he believed the FBI wasn’t on to him.

Shortly thereafter, Bickerton had called Jones to provide the owner’s permission to search Enscombe, with the caveat that the owner had reserved certain areas of the estate for his own personal use. If the FBI wanted to search the entire property for evidence against Highbury, they needed to give Vincent Perdue a few days to clear out his personal belongings. They agreed on Thursday as the soonest the Bureau could conduct their search without a warrant.

Things had gone so smoothly that Peter’s gut told him they were simply waiting to uncover a bump in the road that would shake up all of their plans. That bump appeared Tuesday morning, when Jones arrived early and brought a stranger up to Peter’s office. The stranger looked a little hung over, Peter noticed as the man sat down gingerly. “This is George Knightley,” Jones said.

“Your navy buddy,” Peter remembered.

“Right. And newest member of Highbury. Yesterday he went to Enscombe for one of their initiation events.”

“What happened?” Peter asked.

Finally Knightley spoke. “I wish I could remember. I feel like I really tied one on, but I’m not a heavy drinker, especially when I’m trying to impress people who could help me find a job. After one beer last night I switched to coffee. At first everything seemed normal. I met a lot of people, got some good job leads, and then Frank Churchill invited me into his office. Everything after that is a blank until I was on my way back to Clinton’s place in a Highbury town car. I was exhausted, but not concerned about the gap in my memory. Thinking back, it’s odd how unconcerned I was about it. When I woke up this morning, I noticed this.” He took off his jacket and slid up a sleeve of his shirt to reveal a reddened area near his left shoulder. “I often get an irritation like this after a shot. I’m certain someone drugged me last night.”

“We stopped by the FBI medics on our way up here,” Jones said. “They drew a blood sample and if there’s any of the drug left in his system, the lab will let us know what they find. We might finally have evidence that Highbury drugs their clients for blackmail material. If we can prove they’re getting and using a controlled substance without the necessary licenses, we’re another step closer to shutting them down.”

Peter leaned back and studied the two men sitting across the desk from him. “You’re making it sound like this is good news, but I see bad news written all over your face. Spit it out, Jones.”

“Remember the night Caffrey met with Kate Moreau, and you asked me to be in the café in case he needed help?”

Before Peter could answer, Tricia opened the door to his office. “It’s time for the morning briefing,” she reminded them.

“Cut to the chase,” Peter told Jones.

“We might need to cancel our op at Enscombe. I think Caffrey has been compromised.”

Peter shut his eyes in a moment of frustration. They were so close to getting Highbury and Adler. He hated the possibility of having nothing to show for it. Then he looked up at Tricia. “You lead the briefing today. Then join us in the conference room we’ve been using for the Highbury investigation. We’re going to triage the issues this morning, and provide an updated plan to Hughes before the day’s over. Hopefully we can salvage at least part of our work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued next week. Thanks again to Silbrith for help with this chapter, especially for the scene at the music studio.


	12. Let It Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If funerals are triggers for you, skip to the 3rd scene of this chapter, which is set in Graham Winslow’s hotel suite. The suite is inspired by the hotel room Peter had in the episode Company Man

**Neal’s apartment. Tuesday morning. February 24, 2004.**

Despite his intention of sleeping in, Neal woke at his normal time. Hearing his own breath as he lay in bed in the silent apartment reminded him too much of listening to Byron’s final breaths. That sound haunted him every night when he tried to sleep and every morning when he woke up.

Needing to hear something else, he listened to his MP3 player as he made coffee and started to put the finishing touches on the painting on his easel. Around 10:30 June knocked on his door and asked him to join the family who had gathered for brunch.

“I’m not really…” Neal gestured toward his paint-splattered shirt and jeans, but walked to the sink to clean up.

“You’re fine,” June said. “The girls are still in their pajamas.”

Even with the granddaughters in pajamas, brunch was a somber affair, and as the only non-family member there Neal felt awkward. Half of these people he’d met for the first time at Sunday’s open house. Thirty minutes later when his phone vibrated he was so glad for an excuse to get away that he didn’t pay any attention to who was calling. He stepped into an unoccupied room and said, “Hello?”

“Neal, hi, it’s Angela. Are you… Is this a good time to talk?”

“Um, sure.” He’d met his younger cousin as an adult for the first time a couple of days after Christmas. Since she was in her senior year of college in Seattle, they didn’t exactly run into each other or have much in common beyond a love of music and friendship with their older cousin Henry. He’d heard enough stories from Henry that it felt like he knew Angela, but actually talking to her was another matter.

“Aunt Noelle asked me to call you,” Angela sounded as uncomfortable as Neal felt, “about, um, the funeral.”

“Why?” Neal asked. He stood at the window sill, staring at the fog outside. It shrouded the house and blocked out the bustle of the city, providing an unusual sense of isolation.

“She thought I should tell you about what happened at my father’s funeral last year.” No wonder Angela seemed reluctant to have this conversation. “They asked me to sing.”

“Yeah?”  

“I thought it was no big deal. I’ve been singing forever and I’ve performed for bigger audiences, right?”

“Right.” Neal had had similar thoughts ever since June asked if he’d sing at Byron’s funeral.

“Wrong. I had no idea what I was getting into. There I was at the piano, playing the entrance to one of Dad’s favorite hymns. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, remembering his voice and how much I’d loved singing with him, and I lost it. I kept playing, but I was crying and too choked up to sing a single note.” She laughed, but sounded choked up again from the memory. “I remember thinking that Henry would never let me live it down. He’s such a perfectionist when it comes to performances.”

“Tell me about it,” Neal agreed. “He never lets up.”

“I knooow,” Angela said. “He drives me nuts sometimes.” She sighed. “At the funeral, Henry was standing in the sacristy.”

“The what?”

“A room off to the side, where they store the priests’ robes. The entrance was a few feet from the piano. My eyes were so blurry from tears I didn’t even see him there, you know? But just as I realized I couldn’t sing, he walked over and took the first verse. Sang it like that had been the plan all along. I joined him for the choruses, but I honestly doubt anyone beyond the first two pews could hear me. When it was over and I stood up, I was so blinded by tears I don’t think I could have made my way back to the pew where I’d been sitting. Henry led me into the sacristy, and shut the door before I bawled my eyes out on his shoulder.”

“He never said anything about it.” Neal was surprised.

“Yeah, we never talked about it afterward. I really don’t like to talk about the funeral. It still makes me cry, you know? But Noelle said I should tell you. Well, insisted I tell you. She said you needed to know and it would be good for me to talk about it. And now I’m annoyed at how right she was.”

“She’s a lot like Henry, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, but you have to be polite to her. At least Henry I can hit.”

Neal smiled, imagining what they would have been like as kids. He wished he could have been there in the midst of the inevitable fights.

They wrapped up the call so Angela could get to her first class of the day. Before Neal could summon the energy to return to the brunch, his phone vibrated again. This time it was Michael Darling, inviting Neal to join the former members of Local Devastation for lunch. With regret, Neal explained his 1:00 commitment to sing at a friend’s funeral.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Michael paused and asked in cautious tones, “Have you ever performed at a funeral?”

“I’ve never even attended a funeral,” Neal admitted.

“Have you had a chance to rehearse?”

“Not really. There’s a piano here at the house, but the family’s all here. I don’t want to disturb them.”

“Have you ever performed at the funeral’s location?”

Neal shook his head as he looked out the window again. Normally he could handle a new venue with ease, but Angela’s and Michael’s comments were introducing doubts. “It’s a church, not one I’ve been inside before.”

“Can you and whoever you’re performing with meet at the church early?”

“It’s just me.”

Michael sighed. “A solo at a friend’s funeral with a piano you’ve never played before. Tell me where it’s going to be. I’ll meet you there at noon. We’re going to give you a fighting chance.”

Neal perched on the windowsill after he finished talking to Michael. Having doubts he could pull this performance off was bad enough. Even worse was admitting to anyone he had doubts. But he hated the idea of failing most of all. He wished Henry could be there as his backup, but there was an alternative if he could gather the nerve to reach out to her. He scrolled through the contacts list on his phone and selected Noelle’s number. “Angela called me,” he told his aunt. “She said it was your idea. Then a friend convinced me I should rehearse, so I’m heading over to the church soon.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Noelle.

“Ellen told me no Caffrey can pass by a piano without playing it, or listen to the radio without singing along. Was she right?”

“It’s a family affliction,” Noelle confirmed with a smile in her voice.

“Then you might have some advice, if you joined rehearsal.” Neal did his best to sound indifferent.

“I’d be honored.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Wrapped up in the challenges Jones had discovered with the Highbury case, Peter was tempted to skip Byron’s funeral. But Elizabeth, probably because she knew he wasn’t a fan of emotional events like funerals, had arranged to meet him at the office. She had the tenacity to pry his fingers off his computer keyboard if necessary to get to the service on time.

The church was packed, and Peter didn’t see Neal. But El spotted his aunt and they made their way toward her. Noelle Winslow stood in the aisle, near an alcove with a piano and seating for a choir. Neal and Michael Darling sat in the alcove, looking at sheet music.

“What’s Neal doing?” Peter asked when they were close enough to be heard over the many voices echoing in the sanctuary.

Noelle sighed. “June asked him to sing.”

“Oh. Is that a good idea?” El wondered.

“Probably not,” said Noelle, “but that won’t stop him. He’s as prepared as he can be, and he’s going to let me help.”

Then Michael looked up and recognized Peter, who introduced the Grammy-winning composer to El. She took it in stride, but when Michael was distracted she gave Peter a wide-eyed look and mouthed, “Oh my God.”

A moment later Michael shook Neal’s hand as they stood up. “I wish I could stay, but record company executives aren’t known for their patience.”

“Thanks for the help,” Neal said as he placed the sheet music on the piano.

“Thanks for tolerating it. I realized after I hung up that in my new role as a professor I’ve gotten used to ordering around everyone I meet who’s interested in music. But you aren’t my student and might not appreciate being told what to do.”

Neal almost smiled. “I’m not a big fan of orders, but I recognize musical genius when I see it. This arrangement you suggested is better than anything I would have come up with on my own.” After wishing Neal luck, Michael was on his way and Peter followed El to a space on a pew near the piano.

A lapsed Catholic, Peter let his mind wander through most of the service. He focused when Neal walked up to the piano and placed a fedora on top of the instrument. The sound of crying in the church increased as people recognized Byron’s hat.

Noelle had also walked to the piano. She stood to Neal’s left while he sat and played an intro to “Let It Be.” When Noelle and Neal added their voices for the first verse, Neal started out strong, but faltered at the first “let it be.” Noelle placed a hand on his shoulder. She sang the first chorus solo. Neal joined in again, singing back-up for Noelle on the next verse and chorus, his voice fading occasionally. They took the final verse together as a duet.

When the song ended, Neal appeared drained and remained on the piano bench. He looked up at Noelle, who leaned down to drop a kiss onto his brow and then sat beside him, wiping tears from her eyes. “Neal has a support system,” El whispered to Peter, “because of you.” And she also wiped tears from her eyes.

When the service ended, El hugged Neal, who simply shrugged and said, “Not my best effort.”

El shook her head. “True emotion touches an audience much more than distant perfection.”

Peter patted Neal on the back, but struggled with what to say.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” Neal said.

“I had to,” Peter said, his voice gruff. “I’m your Tuesday Tail.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter’s first thought when he entered the hotel suite Tuesday night with Reese Hughes, Clinton Jones, George Knightley and Tricia Wiese was that Henry Winslow’s grandfather had done well in his time as CEO of Winston-Winslow. Graham Winslow’s suite had a staircase leading up to the bedrooms. The lower level was larger than the first floor of Peter’s townhouse, and contained a dining room spacious enough to seat them all with space left over.

His second thought was that Henry’s hair was longer than it had been when they’d met in early January. Indoors it seemed closer to black than dark brown. As a result Neal and his cousin looked even more alike as they stood in animated conversation beside a piano across the room. It brought back the question Peter had asked Noelle: did Henry impersonate Neal, too?

Soon they were all seated in the dining room, the main course in front of them and desserts and beverages on a buffet table. When the hotel staff was assured that the diners didn’t need anything else, they made a speedy exit. The moment they closed the door behind them, Graham said, “I’d like to know why I brought the _Executive Decision_ up the east coast through a winter squall. Tell us about this case.”

Peter also felt the weight of his boss’ eyes. The afternoon had sped by in a rush of contingency planning, and there hadn’t been time to fill him in on the details. Hughes knew they had uncovered issues but hadn’t heard specifics of what the issues were or how they had been resolved. “Yes, tell us,” Hughes said in his usual dry fashion from the head of the table. “Eventually I’ll have to stop avoiding calls from the top brass and fill them in.”

“Jones,” Peter said, and the younger agent pulled three sheets of paper from a portfolio. He handed them to George, Henry and Graham. “Before we discuss the case, I need those of you who don’t work for the FBI to sign non-disclosure agreements. What I’m about to share with you is extremely sensitive information.”

Graham looked across the table at Neal, who hadn’t received a form. “He really works for the FBI?”

Beside Graham, Henry sighed. “Pops, I told you. You have to stop listening to Dad’s nonsense about Neal.”

“Neal is not an agent,” Peter said with a glance at the consultant sitting beside him, “but he is a full-time employee of the Bureau and a valued member of my team. He also plays a key role in our plans. If I have to choose between his help and yours in this case, I’m choosing his. We can end this discussion right now if you have a problem with that.”

Showing no sign of being rattled Graham said, “According to my son, one of your team is a criminal.”

“I didn’t bring my team here to be insulted,” Peter said. “I trust everyone in this room, except you.”

Graham studied Peter a moment, and nodded. “If you ever get fed up with being a Fed, give me a call. Win-Win needs strong leaders.”

While Peter stared at the man in shock, Hughes said, “I didn’t bring my team here to be recruited.”

“Get used to it,” Graham countered. “Everyone is poaching the best and the brightest these days. Damned Sterling-Bosch won’t leave us alone. I heard they’re already sniffing around that new girl on your team, Henry. Sara something?”

“Sara Ellis? You’ve got to be kidding. I just finished training her a couple of months ago.”

“You got a reputation for recruiting and training. Now everyone wants to steal your team. Alright, Agent Burke. I’ve signed your form. I won’t criticize your people. What’s this all about?”

“We have a lead on Vincent Adler.” Peter paused as Graham and Henry caught their breath. “Yeah, this is big. We recently learned he has an alias we hadn’t been aware of, and under that alias he owns an estate called Enscombe on Long Island. We have reason to believe that he left something important in a safe on that estate. So far the organization leasing the estate isn’t aware of the safe, but we expect that to change after the first of March. That’s when they’ll get the keys to the master suite and permission to make over that space to use for their business. In addition to looking for information that will lead us to Adler, we also want to look for evidence that the business using Enscombe is blackmailing some of their clients.”

Graham laid his silverware on the table, too fascinated to eat. “What’s this business?”

“They’re a professional networking and career counseling firm called Highbury Professional Connections. We have reason to believe that they drug new members and then ask for information that could be used for blackmail. We also believe that they are recruiting members of Adler’s old team, and drugging them to get information about Adler and Adler’s second-in-charge, a man going by the name of Gil Goddard.”

“You don’t think that’s his real name?” Henry asked.

“No. Goddard doesn’t exist. And his background is so sketchy that I’m certain Adler was aware the man was using an alias. And he wasn’t the only one with a false identity at Adler’s company.” Peter looked at Neal.

Neal raised his wine glass in a mocking salute. “Adler knew me as Nick Halden.”

“We think someone at Highbury learned that Adler is the real owner of Enscombe, and he or she wants to find Adler – or more likely Adler’s money – ahead of the FBI. That’s why they’re interested in Adler’s former team. They’ve been trying to recruit Nick Halden for a few months now, and last week we had Neal respond to their overtures. They’re expecting him at Enscombe on Thursday. Since we’re talking about a waterfront estate, surveillance from the municipal van we use in Manhattan isn’t a viable option. That’s where the sailboat comes in. We’ll have agents and equipment on board to record everything that goes on when Nick Halden goes to Enscombe. We’ll also have personnel on the ground at the neighboring bed and breakfast who can be at the estate in a matter of minutes if Neal needs help. We thought everything was falling into place, but this morning we hit a speed bump. Jones, tell them what you learned.” Letting his agent take over the story, Peter finally dug into his meal.

With an apologetic glance toward Neal, Jones said, “A few nights ago I was worried about Caffrey and asked George to keep an eye on him. Turns out that one of the founders of Highbury was also keeping an eye on him. Guy by the name of Isaac Dixon approached George after Neal left. Emphasis on _Neal_ , because he wasn’t going by Nick Halden at the bar. Dixon said he wanted to hire Neal to work at his club and asked George if he knew how to contact him.”

“I met Dixon when I went to Highbury as Halden last week,” Neal said. “He didn’t say anything about recognizing me.”

“Yeah, and it gets more ominous,” Jones said. “Dixon convinced George to try out Highbury’s services. Last night George went to Enscombe. This morning he had a mark on his arm that indicated he’d been given a shot of something, and he had a big gap in his memory about what happened. We have to assume he was drugged and that he told them that Neal works for the FBI. We also have to assume that they know Nick Halden and Neal Caffrey are the same person.”

“Has Highbury rescinded their invitation to Nick?” Neal asked.

“No,” Jones said. “They still want to hear anything you can tell them about Adler. Knowing you have access to the FBI’s files should be an incentive in their eyes. Means you might be able to tell them even more. The thing is, they don’t know that we’ve figured that out. We lucked out with George’s mild allergic reaction to the shot. Otherwise we’d still be in the dark.”

Elbows on the table, Neal leaned forward. “I can use that.”

Across the table from Neal, Henry said, “There is no way you’re doing this.”

“It’s perfect,” Neal said.

“It’s too dangerous,” his cousin argued.

“You’d do it.”

“It’s insane.”

“You know you’d do it,” Neal repeated.

“I’m not letting you –” Henry started.

“You can’t stop me,” Neal interrupted. “It’s my decision. Isn’t that right, Peter?”

“No,” answered Hughes. “It’s my decision. Both of you shut up and eat before I kick you out of this meeting. You’re annoying the grownups. Peter, what are the options?”

Aware that he very much wanted to take Henry’s side, Peter tried to distance himself from his feelings. “The first option is that we could try to find someone else to get into Enscombe as a Highbury client. That would work to get evidence of the blackmail scheme, but we couldn’t do it in time to search Adler’s safe. Any evidence there would probably be lost to us. The second option is that we could try questioning Dixon about Adler, but right now we have more speculation than evidence, and we could risk Adler learning what we know while getting nothing to show for it. Or as the third option, we could send Neal in as we had planned, letting Dixon think that he’s a step ahead of us. We have an inside man starting as a bartender there tomorrow, and now George Knightley is a member who can come and go at will. Between them, they could help Neal slip away long enough to get into Adler’s safe. We can take the contents of the safe as evidence, and abandon the blackmail investigation, getting Neal out before anyone tries to drug him.”

“What?” Neal sounded startled. “No, you have to let them drug me, and record the questions they ask about Adler. When you have that evidence, they’ll trade what they know about Adler in return for leniency on the blackmail charges.”

“No!” Henry said.

“Neal, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Peter added.

“They aren’t going to hurt me,” Neal pointed out. “They want me alive and well to answer their questions. In fact, they’re fools if they don’t try to set up a repeat performance. They’ll want to plant a suggestion that I go through the FBI files for any additional details they need, and will ask me to come back later to go through it all again.”

“And what happens when you’re under the influence of the drug and you tell them that you know what they have planned, and that the FBI is listening in?” Henry demanded.

Neal rolled his eyes, “Well obviously before I go to Enscombe I research the drug’s effects, and when I’m there I convince them I’m under its influence before it really hits me. I answer their questions while I’m still in control. Then, when the drug actually starts to affect me, I make it look like I’m having a bad reaction. Maybe make it appear to be an overdose. They panic and stop questioning me long enough for the agents at the B&B to arrive and make an arrest.”

“I don’t like it,” Henry said. “There are too many things that could go wrong.”

“I can do it,” Neal insisted.

“Enough,” said Hughes before they could launch into a repeat of their earlier exchange. “Peter, do you think Neal can pull off the option he’s suggesting?”

At the New Year’s Eve operation, Peter heard Neal convince a doctor he was having an asthma attack. And Henry’s own mother called Neal _Henry_ during the open house this weekend. Based on these experiences and on the many impressive cons for which Neal had been granted immunity, Peter had to say, “He has a genius for this kind of thing. If anyone can pull this off, it’s Neal.”

“I want those agents you’re stationing at the B&B to be on the estate before anyone tries to drug Caffrey,” Hughes said to Peter. “Response time has to be under a minute, or we pull the plug on this.” Then he turned to Neal. “Last week you said the Bureau isn’t taking advantage of your full potential. Here’s your chance. Don’t squander it on an attempt to show off. The minute you need help or things go out of your control, you let Peter know. Peter calls the shots. Got it?”

“Got it,” Neal confirmed. He didn’t look smug, but he was an expert con artist.

Meanwhile, Henry looked as concerned as Peter felt. And Graham leaned over toward his grandson to say, “You are _never_ going to try something like this, understood?”

It made Peter slightly jealous. He might feel like Neal’s father, but he was precluded from acting like a dad here. Tonight he was an FBI team leader and had to stay in that role, even to the point of recommending something he dreaded. If he couldn’t be objective as a boss where Neal was concerned, Hughes wouldn’t let Neal work for him anymore. There wasn’t another team lead in the New York offices who would appreciate Neal’s potential. Peter couldn’t stand to see him tossed out of the FBI, likely returning to a life of crime to support himself. And Peter couldn’t stand the thought of Hughes turning this op over to another lead agent. If Neal was going to try something this risky, Peter was going to be there every step of the way to make sure the kid had all the help and backup he could get.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this story were set in the present day, I’d have Michael sing “Roads Untraveled” by Linkin Park with Neal to warm up. Unfortunately that song hadn’t been released in 2004, but it popped up on my playlist while I was finishing the first draft of the funeral scene and it felt appropriate.
> 
> I’m dedicating this chapter to my mother, stolen from us much too soon by cancer. Last year when she learned she had weeks to live, she involved the entire family in the hunt for the perfect music for her funeral. And when the time came, I sobbed through every one of those songs.
> 
> My thanks to Silbrith for her invaluable services as a beta-reader and sensitivity in editing the funeral scene. And thanks everyone for your continued interest in my little AU. The next chapter will include more arguments about Neal’s role in the case, followed by a Noelle and Henry scene.


	13. Mind Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no expertise in therapy, and the drug Flashback is a figment of my imagination

**New York hotel room. Tuesday night. February 24, 2004.**

When the meal ended in Graham Winslow’s luxury hotel suite, the diners wandered into the massive living area to discuss the case and revelations. Neal watched as Graham cornered Reese Hughes, and Tricia talked to Jones and George Knightley. Henry pulled Peter aside. Neal could guess what they were saying, but he used his cat burglar skills to approach them silently, anyway.

“I know how his mind works. I can talk him out of this,” Henry was saying.

“It doesn’t mean you should,” Peter replied.

“Do you expect me to believe you want Neal to take an assignment this risky? There’s no way. Remember, I saw your reaction when that guy tried to hold Neal hostage in January. It drove you nuts when he was in serious danger.”

“Well, it’s my job to come up with a plan that mitigates the danger, with protocols in case anything goes wrong. If you can convince Neal to stick to the plan this time, my sanity will stay intact.”

Neal took a step closer, and he let the sound of his footstep against the tile be heard. When Henry faced him, Neal said, “You don’t think I can do this.” Henry tried to reply, but Neal cut him off. “You have this idea of me stuck in your head, where I’m still the semi-innocent, semi-helpless teenager you rescued in Chicago. You’re forgetting that I learned a lot of survival skills from you, and a lot from the criminals I worked with. Just once can you stop playing my big brother long enough to let me take the lead?”

“It’s not a lack of faith in you. But Peter doesn’t know you like I do. He needs to know…” Henry paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “You’re one of the least selfish people I’ve met. That means when it comes to this case, you’ll take risks that most people wouldn’t. You’ll take those risks to close the case, to make people like Peter happy, to prevent Highbury from preying on their clients. You’ll tell yourself it’s worth it, that all of those things together are more important than your safety. But you don’t realize…” He trailed off as Tricia approached.

She looked at the trio warily. “I feel like I’m interrupting something.”

“Go ahead,” said Neal. “Please.”

“Peter, I’ve been talking to Jones about the latest developments on this case. Now we have two people – Seamus Bickerton and Kate Moreau – who have asked Neal to break into the safe. And each claims to be acting on orders from Adler. Do we believe them both?”

“I see where you’re going with this,” Peter said. “Based on our profile of him, Adler plans carefully and doesn’t waste resources duplicating efforts. Which could imply that either Kate or the lawyer lied about wanting the contents of the safe for Adler. It’s likely one of them has a personal interest in what’s inside.”

“Exactly,” Tricia said.

Neal grabbed Henry’s arm and led him away while Peter became absorbed in this latest puzzle. “I appreciate the concern,” Neal said when they were out of earshot, “but you have to let go of this. I need to prove I can handle undercover work in a case this complex, if we want the Bureau to let me work on your case.”

“I’m not taking the Masterson case to the FBI,” Henry said. “I can handle it on my own.”

“You can’t pull it off alone. You need Angela and you need me. And I can’t do what you have in mind without the FBI figuring it out and intervening, so you might as well bring them in from the start. Use their resources.”

“There has to be another way to convince the FBI to let you help me. Maybe if you took some vacation time when I’m ready to take Masterson down, they wouldn’t notice what we’re doing until it’s too late?” Henry ran his hands through his hair, reminding Neal of where he had picked up that gesture. “I just need a little more time to figure it out.”

“Figure it out faster. I used the name _Neal Legend_ on a contract with Theo Guy for a record he’s producing. You have time before anyone else sees that contract, but you’d better be ready. It will kick off the rumors you wanted.”

“Wait. Does that mean the rehearsal with Ty Merchant happened already and you didn’t tell me? I was planning to crash that event.”

Neal nodded, and continued to lead Henry away from his objections to Neal going undercover at Highbury. Henry could brag all he wanted about knowing how Neal thought. He sometimes forgot that Neal could get inside his head, too.

But in all honesty, Neal understood Henry’s desire to take on Masterson without the FBI or Win-Win getting involved, and he hoped his cousin found a way. Even though Neal trusted Peter and was sometimes shocked at how much he had been willing to share with this father figure, there were some secrets Neal wanted – needed – to keep. Involving the FBI in Henry’s schemes brought the threat of exposing one of those secrets: that Neal had withheld one identity in case he ever needed to escape. The knowledge he could still disappear at any time was something Neal treasured; sometimes he thought it kept him sane. He wasn’t ready to give up that security.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter wrapped up his discussion with Tricia, he realized Neal and Henry had moved away and were laughing about something. He was considering joining them, when Reese and Graham approached. “Peter, you need to hear this,” said his boss.

“I thought Highbury sounded familiar,” Graham Winslow said. “I called Win-Win to see what we have on them. First thing I learned is that we do their background checks for new employees.”

A piece of the puzzle clicked into place in Peter’s mind. “That’s how they screened out Jones when we tried to send him undercover last year. We never could figure out how they made him.”

Graham looked smug. “No one beats Win-Win when it comes to data. If it’s there, we’ll find it.”

“Tell him the rest,” Reese insisted, not bothering to hide the impatience in his voice.

“You heard what I said over dinner about recruitment. People with skills we need are in high demand. Finding the right people can take a long time, and frankly sometimes it’s expensive as hell. A couple years back, when Highbury asked us to do background checks for them, they couldn’t afford our terms. But we studied their business model and made them a deal. They get our most thorough backgrounds for a fraction of the cost. In return, we get first pick of their clientele. We tell Highbury what we need, and they send the best candidates our way.”

“You’re in business with Highbury,” Peter summarized. “Since you supposedly have data about everything and everyone, how did you not know your own business partners have been blackmailing clients?”

“Whoever’s doing it must be smart enough not to blackmail anyone who comes to work for us. We’d know in a heartbeat if someone blackmailed one of our own. But you’re right that we keep a close eye on clients and business partners. We stay out of trouble by making sure they stay out of trouble, and we should have seen this.” Graham had looked concerned, but then his expression darkened. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Assuming it’s true. How do I know you’re not making up these allegations against Highbury? Maybe you knew about our connection all along and set up these accusations to put me on the defensive.”

“We have compelling evidence,” Peter said.

“Not compelling enough to make an arrest.”

“Surprisingly, blackmail victims are not eager to go public with the details.” Normally Peter tried to be more tactful, but he didn’t think tact would work with Graham. Blunt sarcasm was more satisfying, anyway. “The Bureau doesn’t like to arrest people only to set them free because we can’t get anyone to testify against them. It isn’t enough to get sufficient evidence for an arrest. We need to be certain we can get a conviction.”

“And those fetters are why you government types burn out. When your time comes and you’re ready to go private, give me a call.”

“I’ve already warned you,” Reese said, “not to recruit my agents.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying. If Highbury really is blackmailing people, my team will find out, and they’ll find out how we missed it.”

“Your team, Pops?” asked Henry. He and Neal had walked over in time to hear Graham’s last comment. “Aren’t you forgetting that you’re retired?”

“Our team,” Graham corrected. And then he mumbled something that sounded like _whippersnapper_. But he looked pleased.

A grinning Neal pointed out that it was getting late, and announced his intention to go home. Before Peter could offer him a ride, Jones spoke up and Neal accepted. Peter followed his team into the elevator, and noticed the change in Neal on the long ride down. He’d hidden it expertly in the hotel suite, but the kid was tired. Peter guessed this wasn’t physical exhaustion as much as being worn out by grief. So much had happened today it was hard to believe the funeral had been this afternoon. Peter had to acknowledge that Neal deserved a quiet ride home. He’d be more likely to get that with Jones, because Peter had questions.

_Not tonight_ , he told himself. _Don’t pester him with questions right now._ “Do you need to take tomorrow off?” he asked anyway.

Neal sighed. “No, I need to spend tomorrow getting ready for Nick Halden’s trip to Enscombe.” He met Peter’s eyes and seemed to read his concern. “Hanging around the house being melancholy isn’t going to do anyone any good. I need to do something constructive.”

Peter nodded. He had one more question on the tip of his tongue, when Jones intervened with, “Peter, I think you were talking with Hughes when I got the text from the lab. They found traces of a drug in George’s blood. It was called…” He grabbed his phone and was looking for the message.

But he didn’t have to. George remembered the official, Latin name. It meant nothing to Peter, but it got a reaction from Neal. So much for not asking questions. “Neal, what do you know about this drug?”

The elevator reached its destination and they stepped into the lobby. After they walked past the group of people waiting to go up, Neal answered. “I asked Noelle if drugs used for therapy could be used for the kind of blackmail scheme we’re investigating. That’s the one she named as the most likely possibility, and its effects match the experience George described. Noelle said it’s called Flashback.”

“And?” Peter prompted, sensing Neal was holding back.

“And she mentioned that Henry has done some research into it. Tomorrow I’ll ask him about how it works and how to fake an overdose if I need to. He’s not going to be happy, but he’ll tell me what I need to know.”

Peter still thought there was more to the story. “Neal, what aren’t you telling me about this drug?”

“Look, I’m not a medical expert. Saturday was the one and only time I’ve heard of Flashback, and I’ve told you all the facts I know about the drug.”

“I’ll look into it in the morning,” Jones offered. “George can help.”

Peter nodded and on the drive back to Brooklyn he told himself he was satisfied. He _should_ be satisfied. Neal said he’d told Peter all of the facts, and Neal had been scrupulously honest with Peter recently. Sure, sometimes he withheld information, but tonight he’d specifically said he wasn’t withholding anything.

Wasn’t withholding any facts. And facts were all that mattered in a case.

Peter’s gut still told him something was off. He ran through it one more time. Noelle told Neal about Flashback. Neal told Peter all of the facts. What else could Noelle have told Neal that was relevant, but wasn’t a fact?

Noelle was a psychologist, Peter reminded himself as he made the turn onto his street. Psychology wasn’t like the fields he was comfortable with. Unlike accounting, it was filled with emotions, and nuances, and… speculation. He’d bet his next paycheck that Noelle had made some sort of speculation about Flashback that Neal didn’t want Peter to be aware of.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Graham Winslow was the early to bed, early to rise sort. He turned in at 10pm on the dot. And Henry wasn’t entirely surprised to receive a text from his mother at 10:05. Neal had warned him that Noelle Winslow had stayed in New York, and that after the funeral she had mentioned an intention to have “a talk” with her son. Neal had described her tone as ominous.

Henry texted back to let her know that she could safely avoid her ex-father-in-law. She must have been in the hotel lobby, because minutes later she knocked on the door to the suite.

Instead of hugging Henry the moment he opened the door, she studied him carefully first. “Looking for something?” Henry asked as she finally embraced him.

“You,” she said, and then let him go.

“Well you found me. And Pops is upstairs in his room, so you’re safe from the inquisition about why you don’t want to come back to work for Win-Win. Can I get you a drink?” Henry asked as he led the way to the living area.

“Water will be fine.” Noelle stepped out of her shoes and then sank into an overstuffed sofa.

Henry brought her a glass of water and then lounged on the sofa beside her. “Shouldn’t you be in Baltimore, inspiring graduate students?”

“I had a PhD candidate handle my classes today. Tomorrow I’ll take the red-eye back home. But I needed to talk to you, first.”

“You could have just called,” Henry said, pretending he didn’t see the fierceness in her expression. He was in trouble, and being defensive would only make it worse. The best approach was to remain calm while learning what the issue was, buying time to think up an explanation that would placate her. The fact that she knew exactly what he was doing only made the game more intricate.

“And you could have been too busy to call back.”

“You know what Win-Win is like,” Henry countered.

“Mmm. Yes, we’ll get back to that. But first we’re going to talk about Neal.”

Henry suppressed a smile, giving his mother an earnest expression. “I’m honored that you’re willing to discuss his case with me. How did the session go?”

Annoyance flashed across her face. “You know very well I’m not going to divulge what any of my patients tell me in confidence.”

“I know very well that psychologists discuss cases with each other all the time for additional insights and suggestions.”

“Not when the patient is someone known to you. Very well known to you, apparently. When you referred Neal to me, you left out some pertinent information. Why on earth didn’t you tell me he assisted with your master’s degree? You know I would have approached the first session differently if I’d realized he had studied psychology.”

“He told you that?” Henry didn’t bother hiding his shock.

“No, Agent Peter Burke told me. Which brings me to something else you might have mentioned. Peter has quite the hold on Neal, doesn’t he?”

“What do you mean?” Henry asked.

“When he saw Neal doing something he disapproved of on Sunday, and Neal refused to stop, all Peter had to do was call Neal _son_ and Neal immediately obeyed.”  

That revelation propelled Henry to his feet. “He’s using that to manipulate Neal? That isn’t how it was supposed to work. I just wanted…” He trailed off, noticing Noelle’s satisfied expression. “Ok, you got me. Yes, I knew that Neal thinks of Peter as a father figure. In fact, I encouraged it.”

“Why do you feel guilty about their relationship?”

Henry ran his hands through his hair, and then paced in front of the sofa as he talked. “When I came to New York in January, I realized that Neal’s nightmares and flashbacks were getting worse. It seemed to be caused by finding a father figure he finally trusted, someone who broke through Neal’s defenses. I knew if Peter acknowledged Neal as a son, it would give Neal new defenses for a while. But it places Peter inside those defenses, in a position to take advantage of Neal.” He looked up at Noelle, aware that the pleading in his voice was likely echoed in his face, “I never believed he would do it. I’d never have given Peter that key if I thought he’d use it that way. I should have checked in on Neal more often, come back up here again to see things for myself instead of believing him when he said everything was fine. I…” He paused, realizing Noelle was repeating his name.

“Henry, enough!” Noelle stood, put her hands on her son’s shoulders, and pushed. “Sit down and calm down.” She refilled her glass of water and then returned to sit beside Henry. “It’s never easy with you. You’re too smart for your own good. Half the time I don’t know whether to berate you or congratulate you, and tonight is no exception.”

Henry treated her to an honest grin. “Let’s start with the congratulations.”

“Very well.” Noelle tucked her feet under her, turning on the sofa to face Henry. “It would seem you helped Peter and Neal acknowledge a very powerful bond. What I witnessed on Sunday wasn’t something I’d categorize as manipulation. Peter appeared deeply worried, unsure about whether calling Neal _son_ would work, and relieved when it did. I’d describe it as something rare and beautiful.”

“That’s an aunt speaking, not a therapist. _Beautiful_ , really,” Henry teased.

“I’m allowed to be an aunt occasionally. No.” She shook her head before Henry could respond. “You don’t have to say it. Neal needs a professional therapist more than he needs an aunt right now. I underestimated how quickly he’d make his way into my heart, but for now I can and will continue to keep those roles separate. As an aunt, I thought it was beautiful. As a therapist, I see it as ephemeral.”

“You think Peter’s going to change his mind about Neal?”

Noelle sighed. “I think that Neal is making up for missed opportunities. When he’s dealt with his childhood issues, he’ll want a different kind of relationship with his father figure.”

“Hopefully not what I have with Robert.”

“No, your relationship with your father is never going to be what it should be, and that’s something else we need to discuss. But think about what you have with Graham. You’ll always be a beloved grandchild in his eyes, but he also treats you as an equal, as a business partner in Win-Win. Even as you acknowledge Graham has more experience and you try to learn from him, you relish the respect he gives you. That’s where Neal’s relationship with Peter should move, ideally – to the mutual respect and affection of adult peers where it is acknowledged that one is the more senior.”

Henry put his feet up on the coffee table. “That sounds boring and clinical, but I get it. And now’s when you berate me?”

“Not yet. First I have to tell you how pleased I am to see how much you care about Neal. After I filed for the divorce, you became so distant and self-contained. I started to worry you’d never open yourself up to that kind of friendship.”

“I’d describe the Neal the same way when I found him in Chicago. Determined to take care of himself and not to make any connections that could hurt him. But he couldn’t help trusting me. It was almost instinctive. It surprised us both.”

“He may have remembered you, at some level. When the Marshals took him away, you tried to protect him. You were screaming at them to bring him back. That would have been a powerful memory – of the last person who tried to save him before he was uprooted and eventually abused. I’m happy for both of you that you have this friendship.” She paused.

“But?” Henry said. “I can hear the disapproval looming. What’s wrong with long-lost cousins being like brothers now?”

“Nothing, I hope. My concern is that you hid it. You led everyone to believe that you found Neal, got him medical care, and then let him go on his way. I don’t understand why you felt the need to mislead your family for years.”

Henry leaned back into the sofa, staring up at the ceiling as he recalled the events of seven years ago. “I let him go his own way. And he made the choice to stick with me.”

“I’m sure you made it an alluring choice, compared to the other options.”

“Yeah, he picked the choice I thought was best for him. As far as the secrecy goes, there were several factors. First, he had been in WITSEC. It didn’t seem wise to advertise where he was and what he was doing. The danger didn’t go away because he left home. Second, I thought I’d get constant pressure to send him back to his mom.” He looked at Noelle. “Especially from you.”

“And what would be the harm in reuniting Neal with Meredith?” She sounded exasperated.

“Under the influence of the fever he was running and the drugs they gave him at the hospital in Chicago, he said some scary things… Most of it I could tie back to what I’d read about his abuse. But not all of it. I was honest with him about what I knew of the abuse, about how as a kid visiting Win-Win I’d found the police report and hospital records. He asked me not to tell him the parts he didn’t remember, and I abided by his wishes. When I asked him about the things he’d said that confused me, he refused to answer. I couldn’t take the risk of sending him back to a situation where he might still be in danger. Not even to please you.”

Noelle remained silent a moment as she considered what Henry had told her. “How long did he stay with you?”

“About four years. We essentially parted ways when he turned 22, but we’ve always stayed in touch.”

“You’ve never told me what you did during that time.”

“Got a master’s degree, obviously.”

“And obviously you did more than that. Henry, can’t you be serious about this for once? I was worried about you, for years. Where were you? How did you survive?”

Usually Henry managed to avoid this conversation, or to hold it over the phone where he didn’t have to look at her. Seeing her concern almost broke his resolve. “Mom, you really don’t want –”

“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want to know,” Noelle interrupted. “You’re my _son_. And in my profession I know all too well about the bad things that can happen to people. I want to know that you weren’t hurt. Or if you were, I want to help.”

Hearing the edge of tears in his mother’s voice, Henry reached over to hug her. “I wish I could tell you it was all a fun adventure. Sometimes that was an accurate description, and for Neal’s sake especially I tried to think of it that way. But the truth is, it started because I had encountered some bad things. Evil, you might say. That’s why I left college and stayed on the move for a few years. At first I hid from it, and I taught Neal how to hide. But in the end I had to fight it. I’ll admit I made my share of mistakes along the way, but I did my part to right a few wrongs. And that’s all I can tell you. For everyone’s safety I did that fighting in the dark, and you have to let it stay in the dark.”

Noelle let her head rest on his shoulder. “Because you’re still fighting the evil?”

“Now who’s too smart? Yeah, there’s still a fight going on, but there’s someone I need to convince that I’ve gone away and given up. You could undo everything I’ve almost achieved if you go poking around now. And I can’t afford to be distracted by you getting swept into it.”

She lifted her head to look at Henry again. “Tell me you aren’t doing this alone.”

“No. Neal’s in it, too. He won’t let me leave him out.” Henry sat up straight and grinned at her. “What was Neal doing that had Peter so worried? That must have been something good. I’m sorry I missed it.”

Noelle gave him a look that told him she knew he was deliberately changing the subject, and that she was granting him a temporary reprieve. “Neal was impersonating you.”

“What’s scary about that?”

“He was too good at it. At one point I even called him by your name.”

Henry whistled. “Impressive.”

“When Peter said Neal helped with your master’s... did that help include attending your classes?”

“There might have been a few occasions. But I always… well, I _almost_ always took the exams. There was one midterm when I had the flu and Neal filled in.”

“That’s how you finished the degree so quickly. You essentially took two years of course work in one. Really, Henry, how could you?”

“What’s the big deal? We both got a great education, two of us on a single scholarship. And you’re hardly in a position to throw stones. How many times have I heard stories about you going to chemistry classes for Aunt Meredith while she went to French for you? From the sound of things, you spent half of your high school years driving people crazy by impersonating each other. Why is it ok for twins, but not for the sons of twins?”

“Hmm.” Noelle squinted at him as she thought, then treated him to a grin that mirrored his own. “Let me get back to you on that. I’m sure there’s an explanation that doesn’t make me sound like a hypocrite.”

“I won’t hold my breath.” Henry crossed his arms and tried to look severe. “You kept alluding to something we need to discuss about Win-Win and Dad. What is it?”

“At the last Win-Win board meeting it came to my attention… That does sound stuffy, doesn’t it? Let’s try it this way: are you aware of Graham’s plans for you?”

“That he wants me to take over Win-Win eventually? He mentioned it my first day at the company, more than a year ago. I wasn’t thrilled about it, and I haven’t agreed to it. But I’m not going to stress about something that won’t happen till I’m probably in my 50s. Who knows what will happen between now and then?”

“I was afraid of this. Henry, he doesn’t intend for you to take over in your 50s. He wants to wait until you’re 30, but it’s straining his patience to hold out that long.”

For a moment Henry stared at Noelle, unable to speak. “You… He can’t…” He shook his head and tried again. “But what about…”

“Graham intends to skip a generation. His daughter and two of his sons are fine with that, but Robert isn’t.”

“Well, yeah,” said Henry, giving up on eloquence. “Dad _lives_ for Winston-Winslow. He’s spent his adult life trying to prove to Pops that Win-Win is his first priority. It’s the reason…” He looked at his mother and stopped.

“It’s the reason he married me, to recruit me into the company and to have a child with the combination of his skills and mine. It’s the reason he taught you everything he knew about investigations before you even started high school, and the reason he did… well, whatever he did to convince you to work for Win-Win after you’d always said you’d never join them.”

“Blackmail,” said Henry, tamping back anger to think through the situation. He glanced at Noelle and said, “I’ll tell you about it later. Dad’s whole world has been about doing a good job, being recognized, and pleasing Pops. Why isn’t he getting a shot at running the company?”

“Because Win-Win needs more than a hard worker in charge. They need someone with creativity, with vision. Those aren’t Robert’s strong suits. But they are yours.”

Henry blinked. “I’m surprised he doesn’t hate me.” When Noelle didn’t respond he continued, “He does hate me?”

Noelle laid a hand over his. “Knowing him as I do, I have to say he’s moving in that direction. Robert’s always had a black-and-white view of the world. He knows what’s right and he does it, not because he’s a good person but because that’s what’s expected of a leader at Win-Win. If anything were to make Robert cross the line, this would be it. Sometimes I think he acted the role of a protective father to please his own father, not because he had actual paternal instincts. If he has to choose between you and the company… Sweetheart, be careful. He’s in a position to make your job, and your life, extremely difficult. Graham must realize that Robert’s upset, but I don’t think he grasps how ruthless Robert can be. I’m afraid Graham won’t step in to protect you until it’s too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Silbrith for editing, focusing, and generally keeping me on track.


	14. Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no expertise in therapy, and the drug Flashback is a figment of my imagination.

**Neal’s apartment. Wednesday morning. February 25, 2004.**

Normally a light sleeper, Neal knew something was wrong when he realized someone was in his apartment and he still struggled to wake up. Since that someone was Henry, he was more annoyed than worried. “Go ‘way,” he mumbled, and tried to drag a pillow over his head to drown out his cousin’s voice.

“C’mon,” Henry cajoled as he snatched the pillow away. “Pops is already on his way to the Federal Building. You don’t want to leave him and Peter unsupervised, do you?” When Neal ignored him, Henry sat down on the bed. “I saw the sketchpad. You had another nightmare, didn’t you?”

Neal sat up and yawned as he recalled the reason he was so tired. “About 4am. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I gave up and drew the scene.” He shoved his cousin out of his way and walked over to the kitchen. Henry had made coffee, and therefore Neal couldn’t be too mad at him. He drank a cup as he looked at the drawing once more. “Tear it up,” Neal said and then left to take a shower.

When Neal returned to the kitchen in a suit and tie, Henry was stuffing pieces of a charcoal sketch into a trash bin. “This one was more detailed than the other versions I’ve seen,” Henry said. “You’re remembering more. How long have the dreams been back?”

Neal shrugged. “Last few nights. It starts with a weirdly realistic dream of talking to Byron, where we both know he’s supposed to be dead, but somehow he’s been granted a little more time. And then it moves into the old nightmare about Vance.”

“I should have seen it coming,” Henry said. “Losing a role model and mentor like Byron was a blow to your defenses. That’s something else you need to talk about in therapy.”

Neal led the way downstairs rather than answer. He grabbed a fedora and a coat, and then rode to work in silence in Henry’s rental, grateful for the opportunity to get a little more rest on the drive. There was a moment when he opened his eyes and thought Henry looked stressed, but when he asked what was wrong, Henry said a cabbie had cut him off. Tired, Neal closed his eyes again and let his cousin get away with the deflection.

At the office, Neal was assigned the task of watching Henry and Graham, who weren’t trusted to roam the Bureau offices unattended. Since they were not invited to the morning briefing, Neal skipped it. Instead he took them into the conference room dedicated to the Highbury case and filled them in on more of the details. Standing at the front of the room and talking through the case, he realized he was starting to sound like Peter. Maybe he really was going to fit in at the FBI.

Even Graham nodded in approval. “I’m starting to see why the boy here wants to recruit you.”

Soon Peter arrived with the rest of the team, including George Knightley. They went over the plan for Thursday in excruciating detail. Lunch was ordered in, and everyone scattered after the order was placed to grab drinks and take a quick break. Alone with Henry, Neal said, “Your mom told me you were researching a drug called Flashback. Was it for a Win-Win case?”

“For Win-Win, but not for a case.” Henry leaned forward in his chair, clearly excited about this topic. “Since we make a point of hiring psychologists, we take an interest in the latest developments in psychology. One of my first assignments was looking into this hot new drug we’d been hearing about, and I recommended that we invest in some of the studies. It’s been authorized for use in severe cases, and in a few years… Hold on. You’re not saying you want to take that path, are you? You really need to give traditional therapy a try, first.”

Neal wished he could ease Henry into this, but knew they didn’t have much time before the rest of the team returned. “Try to keep an open mind about what I’m going to tell you, and don’t freak out.”

“Neal, what have you done?”

“Suspicious much? I haven’t done anything. But we’ve learned that Flashback is the drug Highbury is using on their clients. Which means they’ll use it on me tomorrow. And that means less therapy, right? I’ll remember everything. No need to unlock any repressed memories. I get through everything faster and will be less of a drain on Noelle’s time.”

“And you seriously believe you’re ready to face those memories after one session with a therapist?”

“Noelle suggested that a psychologist should be on hand when those memories surface. And you’re already part of the op. Perfect, huh?”

“There is no way you’re going to convince me that Mom approved of this plan. Did she also _suggest_ that you not try this?”

“She cleared me for undercover work.” Neal reached for Henry’s arm as his cousin tried to stand up. “We don’t have a lot of time. You know me. You know I’m not going to back out of this assignment. Are you going to run out of here and whine to your mom that I’m not playing by your rules, or are you going to stay here and tell me what I need to know about Flashback?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter returned to the conference room to find Neal and Henry glaring at each other. “Is there a problem here?” he asked them.

They turned their glare on him for a moment, and then Henry made a gesture of sheer exasperation. “Fine. Pay attention, because you have to get this right.” As the sandwiches arrived and the rest of the team trickled back into the room, Henry gave a detailed description of the drug Highbury was using. He explained exactly what Neal needed to fake in order to convince Highbury he was under the influence of the drug, and also how Neal could fake an overdose when he really started to feel the effects.

“The thing to remember is that Flashback is intended to help patients deal with terrifying, repressed memories. In order to do that, the patient needs to remain calm, and the drug is designed to ensure that. For Highbury, that means their clients don’t struggle. For us, that means Neal will be sedated. Once the drug really does start to kick in, we can’t rely on him making entirely rational decisions. He’s supposed to convince them he’s experiencing dizziness, nausea, exhaustion, disorientation, and meanwhile we’re counting on Jones getting over from the B&B, finding Neal and the Highbury conspirators within that massive estate, and making the initial arrest within minutes.”

“Don’t overdramatize it,” Neal said. “We know where they’ll have me. They drugged George in Frank Churchill’s office.”

“We can’t assume they always use the same location,” Henry said. “Any number of circumstances could have them taking you someplace else. You’ll have to make your location clear to those of us monitoring you so we can send Jones in the right direction. From the time you let us know you’re really feeling the effects of the drug, he has minutes to get to you before you start telling the bad guys we’re on to them.”

“I’m not going to tell them anything. When I start faking the overdose, they’ll stop questioning me.”

“Yeah, because blackmailers are so kind and compassionate.”

“Because they’re going to panic,” Neal said. “I’ll make sure of it. They aren’t murderers, and the thought that I’m dying will shake them up too much to keep questioning me.”

“Is an overdose lethal?” Tricia asked.

Henry nodded. “It can be, and it works quickly. A normal dose puts the patient to sleep after 30 minutes. In an overdose, the patient passes out instead, and eventually goes into pulmonary arrest. He stops breathing about 10 minutes after passing out. At that point he needs to be on life support.”

“The nearest hospital is about 30 minutes’ drive from Enscombe,” Tricia said, looking at the contingency plans. “In case of an overdose, we’d need to get Neal into a car on his way to the hospital within minutes to reach the emergency room on time.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “We’ve already been over this. They aren’t going to give me an overdose. They want me alive and well to answer their questions.”

“They aren’t doctors,” Henry said. “And everyone makes mistakes.”

“Have there been reports of anyone dying of a Flashback overdose in this area?” Neal asked. “If not, we have to assume that whoever is administering the drug at Highbury knows what he or she is doing. They’re suspected of drugging dozens of clients, right?”

“Jones?” said Peter.

“No reports of overdoses, lethal or not,” Jones answered. “And I also can’t find any reports of the drug being stolen or reported missing locally. I’m going to extend my search to other cities to see if we can find their supply, but that’s going to take time. If we arrest them tomorrow, we’ll probably get the answer directly from the Highbury employees involved before I can find it in a national search of reported thefts of controlled substances.”

“No reports of overdoses,” Neal repeated. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

“It’s part of our job to worry,” Peter said. “Especially in an operation like this with so many potential suspects and so many unknowns. We plan for every contingency we can, including accidental overdose or allergic reaction. Better to plan ahead than be taken by surprise. I know you’re good at improvising and that’s a bonus, but improvising is the last resort. You follow the plan, especially after you’ve been drugged. You aren’t going to be the clearest thinker in the world once you start feeling the effects of the drug. That’s why we’ll have Jones on the estate and ready to extract you as soon as we’ve recorded them asking you questions about Adler.”

George Knightley then turned the conversation to ways that Neal could delay the effects of Flashback. “You want to stay calm, breathe slowly. It’s all about keeping your heart rate low so that the drug spreads as slowly as possible after it enters your bloodstream. That means avoiding caffeine before they give you the shot.”

“I can’t survive without coffee in the morning,” Neal objected.

“Coffee with breakfast will be safe, but avoid it after that,” George recommended.

“How about alcohol?” Neal asked.

“Here’s where our undercover bartender gets involved,” George said. “Alcohol reacts with this type of drug, making you feel it faster and intensifying the effect. We want the folks at Highbury to think you’ve been drinking, to convince them you really are being influenced by the drug quickly. But the drinks the bartender gives you won’t have any alcohol.”

“And that brings us to what we’ll do when Neal starts to feel the effects of the drug,” Peter said. “We’ll be listening for you to fake that overdose, but if at all possible, use the panic phrase as soon as you feel the effects to make it absolutely clear to those of us monitoring you. We’re going with ‘by the book’ again.”

“Is that normal, to reuse panic phrases from one case to the next?” Neal asked.

“If it’s a phrase that can fit multiple cases,” Peter said. “Reusing a phrase that works for you simplifies things. It makes it one less new thing to remember. And it also has the advantage of reminding you to take this case by the book. You’re going to stick to the plan and not take any unnecessary risks, got it?”

Neal said, “Of course,” while Henry snorted.

“Cut the crap,” said Graham. “Sorry, Peter. I know this is your case, but these two sniping at each other is getting on my nerves. They need to work it out or get past it, ‘cause we’ve got a job to do.”

“You’re right,” Peter said. “Jones, Tricia, I want you to go over the communications plan with Graham. Let him know what equipment we need to set up in his boat, and make sure you’re clear on our options in case we lose contact with either Jones or Neal.” He grabbed each of the cousins by a suit jacket collar and tugged. “My office, now.”

Neal and Henry were barely seated in Peter’s office before they began a rapid-fire exchange. Neal started with, “He doesn’t –”

“He can’t –” interrupted Henry.

“You never let –”

“You won’t listen to –”

“I know what I’m –”

“I just wanted to keep –”

“It’s already started –”

“The sketch this morning –”

“It won’t stop –”

“Exactly.” Henry crossed his arms and looked at Peter. “See?”

Peter sat down behind his desk, facing them. “Not really. Did you reach some sort of agreement?”

Neal and Henry looked at each other, turned to Peter and both said, “He’s scared.”

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Peter said. “Henry, what do you think Neal is scared of?”

“He’s scared of the memories that will come back when he’s given Flashback. But the memories are already coming back, which means some part of his mind thinks he’s ready. And having them pop back in nightmares or random flashbacks is scary because he doesn’t have any control that way. So he’d rather get it all over with at once tomorrow, knowing we’ll be around to pick up the pieces afterward.”

Almost as soon as Henry finished, Neal added, “And he’s scared that I’m right. That we can’t put it off any longer, but that I might not be able to handle it. He’s scared he’ll fail me, because he has the whole big brother thing going on and blames himself if anything happens to me.”

“You got all of that out of…” Peter paused as their fears started to make sense. “I thought this drug let you access memories in a discussion led by a therapist or a Highbury employee who asks you questions about those events. Are you saying it simply opens the floodgates for a bunch of repressed memories to come pouring through?”

“It differs patient by patient,” Henry said, “but that possibility exists. One minute Neal might be pretending to overdose. The next minute he might be back in the late 1980s, reliving his abduction.”

“Now I’m scared,” said Peter.

“Join the club,” Henry responded with a glum expression. But a moment later he brightened. “How about sending me in instead of Neal? I could convince them I’m Nick Halden.”

“No,” said Neal before Peter could consider it. “You don’t know how to crack a safe. Let’s face it. Reliving what Vance did to me will be – let’s call it _uncomfortable_ – but it won’t be dangerous. If I’m caught up in memories of abuse I won’t be telling anyone at Highbury that I’m actually undercover with FBI agents listening in, right?”

Peter looked at Henry for confirmation. “Is it dangerous if all of his memories come back at once?”

“If we get him talking to a therapist as soon as we extract him – and I mean some intensive sessions requiring a few days off work – he should be ok,” Henry said somewhat reluctantly. “I’ll do what I can to get us started, but if you want my blessing for this plan, we need to get my mom back out here. She’s the one Neal will need to talk to when his memories return.”

Peter nodded. “Give her a call. See if she can be back in New York Thursday afternoon.” Henry stepped out into the nearby conference room to make the call. Peter gave Neal his full attention. “We can still call this operation off. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Neal sighed. “I don’t want to. But I think I need to.”

“That whole conversation you just had…” Peter gave up trying to describe it and asked, “What the hell was that?”

“Remember when I said Henry was the alternate me?”

“You said you had so much in common that if you hadn’t been forced into WITSEC you would have turned out almost exactly like Henry.”

“And our moms were identical twins. Once we met up in Chicago and started spending a lot of time together it was like we developed, you know,” Neal shrugged, “twin-speak.”

“You were on the same wavelength?”

“I guess. Abbreviated conversations and odd coincidences became the norm. I don’t question it anymore.” Seeming uncomfortable with the topic, Neal stood. “We need to get back to the case, right?”

Peter grinned. “Maybe you can read my mind, too.”

They returned to the conference room dedicated to the Highbury case to hear Graham saying, “My son Robert confirmed it. Highbury keeps two sets of books. The first, used for tax purposes, shows a lower income. The books they show us as business partners shows more income, and most of that comes from charging some of their clients exorbitant rates. It’s definitely a red flag, and we’re looking into why we never noticed it. But I have to admit it looks like you’re right about the blackmail.”

Neal sat down at the table and didn’t say a word, but Peter thought mind-reading might be going around because he knew the kid had to be thinking it was appropriate to have Robert Winslow looking into a blackmail case. Robert was an expert on the subject.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal got home that evening, fixed a light dinner, and stared at the blank sheet of paper on the top of his sketch pad.

If tonight followed the pattern of the last few nights, he’d get a few hours of sleep. Then he’d wake ridiculously early from a nightmare he couldn’t shake. He’d draw to rid his mind of the demons of his past, and he might get another hour of sleep before it was time to head to work.

He really wanted to go into the Highbury assignment at his best, fully rested and wide awake. Maybe a change of scenery would help, something to take his mind in a different direction. On an impulse he packed a bag and went to the marina where the _Executive Decision_ was docked. He’d barely boarded the vessel before Henry popped up from below deck. One of those coincidences he’d mentioned to Peter.

Neal followed Henry down. “You can have this bunk,” Henry said, pointing to a bed on the right side of the room. There was another bunk on the left side, with Henry’s guitar on it.

Grabbing the guitar, Neal sat on the right bunk. Henry started to make a token protest, but Neal said, “Shut up and I’ll play you the songs Michael Darling wrote for Ty Merchant’s new album.” After several songs, Neal set the guitar aside and admitted, “I don’t really remember all that much about it.”

Henry nodded, and Neal was glad he didn’t have to go into a big explanation. Henry knew Neal meant the abduction when Neal was nine.

“There’s stuff I know, from hearing Mom and Ellen talk about it. It almost feels like memories, but then it comes back to me in a nightmare and I realize I didn’t really remember what it was like.” He took a moment to prop up a couple of pillows against the wall to lean against. He could stop talking now, and Henry would let him. But he went ahead and said it. “I don’t actually remember being in the hospital afterward.”

Surprise ran across Henry’s face. He thought a while and then said, “I suppose there was enough pain and confusion when you woke up that you needed to block that out, too.”

“Or maybe I was afraid Vance would come back and find me again. I don’t know if anyone told me he was in prison, or if I would have trusted the authorities to keep him locked up.”

Henry took the guitar back and put it away. He said, almost casually, “That’s when you invented the Hospital Game.”

“Yeah. I always thought I created that variation on hide-and-seek because I was bored, but maybe…” He knew he didn’t have to finish the thought.

“Maybe you were scared,” Henry said. “Maybe you thought you saw Vance, or someone mentioned his name, and you needed to hide.”

“Right.” That was the thing about Henry. He could drive Neal crazy, but he got it. Neal could count on Henry to get it, and to be honest. Or just to be there in silent support if that’s what he needed. But the thought of silence reminded Neal of something. “You didn’t play the radio this morning.”

“What?”

“On the drive to the Bureau. You always play the radio and sing along when you’re driving. Why did you leave it off today?”

“My chat with Mom last night included some stuff about Robert. It left me in a weird mood for a while.”

“Everything ok?” Neal asked.

“Yeah. Everything’s under control.” Henry turned out the lights and slipped into his bunk on the opposite side of the room. Lulled by the waves rocking the boat and the reassuring presence of his best friend, Neal slept without nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Silbrith for being not only a brilliant beta-reader, but also a research assistant whose knowledge of New York has been immensely helpful. Not to mention her knowledge of art, music and birds. 
> 
> In next week’s chapter Neal’s undercover at Enscombe and breaking into the safe. We’ll also encounter Mozzie and Kate again.


	15. Enscombe

**Chapter 15: Enscombe**

**Town car. Thursday morning. February 26, 2004.**

“I’m real sorry, Mr. Halden,” said the driver as they pulled away from the Highbury Manhattan location. “We’re gonna be a little late getting there. All the rain made a sinkhole open up this morning along the main road into Enscombe. It brought down a bunch of trees, and the road’s closed till a crew can clean it up. They say it could be closed for days if they think the road’s unsafe. There’s another route to that part of Kings Point, but it’s gonna add another 30 minutes. You wanna stop for coffee or anything ‘fore we head out?”

“No, that’s fine. I’m not in a hurry,” said Neal. But that was a lie. He was already feeling the rush of a heist or undercover assignment. The adrenaline was hitting him, and now he had an even longer wait before he could actually do anything. Because the driver was inclined to chat, Neal asked him questions about Highbury and Enscombe, but didn’t learn anything useful. As they took the bridge leading to Long Island, Neal looked out the window on the off chance of catching a glimpse of Graham Winslow’s sailboat. The _Executive Decision_ had been loaded with monitoring equipment, and Graham, Henry and Peter were on their way to the Kings Point coastline. This far away they wouldn’t hear anything from the transmitter in Neal’s watch but they’d pick up the feed once Neal reached the estate.

Jones and Tricia had spent the night at the bed and breakfast next to Enscombe. Tricia was posing as an avid birdwatcher, and her cover was looking for a Northern Shrike recently spotted near the Enscombe property line. Jones would be fishing near Enscombe’s dock. Tricia had gotten the better deal. She actually loved birds. Jones was a confirmed urbanite who hated fishing.

As a Highbury member, George Knightley had spent the night at Enscombe. And Mozzie had stayed at his Long Island safe house, preparing for his second day on the job as Dante the bartender.

Shortly after the time the Bureau expected Neal to arrive at Enscombe, Neal’s phone vibrated. He wasn’t surprised to see it was Peter calling. “Hey, buddy, what’s up?” Neal answered.

“We’re not getting a signal from your watch. Is anything wrong?”

“No problem. We’re running about 30 minutes late, so I have time to talk.”

“I see. Well on our side, all of the players are in place. And I need to warn you, Jones saw Kate. He thinks he dodged her before she noticed him, but she also stayed at the B&B. Did you know she’d be there?”

Neal glanced at the driver. He assumed the man knew nothing about what was going on at Highbury, but wasn’t going to take the chance of saying anything he wouldn’t want repeated to the staff at Enscombe. “She’s persistent. I assume she’s been in touch with our mutual friend.”

“Why would Mozzie tell her the timing of the op?”

“He probably thought it was _safe_. He called me yesterday with some interesting details.”

“She told him the model of the safe so you could bring the right equipment for breaking in?”

“That’s right. He believes in being prepared. He’ll have everything we need.”

“Ok. Mozzie’s bringing the equipment. Text me when you arrive and we’ll check for a signal from your watch.” Peter paused. “Neal, be careful. Don’t take any crazy risks. Say the panic phrase if anything seems wrong, and we’ll get you out of there.”

“Everything’s under control,” Neal said before he hung up. Then he frowned. That’s exactly what Henry had said last night when Neal asked what was bothering him. Neal had been too wrapped up in his own issues to remember that when Henry said that, it meant he was making things up as he went along. After this op was over, Neal would get his cousin to tell him what was wrong.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Built in the 1920s, the main building at Enscombe was an ornate structure with classic art deco touches. Neal would have loved to spend all day exploring, but he had a safe to break into. On his arrival he’d been greeted by Jane Fairfax, a woman of Vietnamese descent who appeared to be in her mid-thirties and who wore the standard dark suit and pale blue shirt of Highbury employees. Jane had planned to give Nick Halden a tour of the estate, but within minutes she was confronted by Dante the bartender, who carried a binder stuffed with more pages than it was designed to hold.

“As the representative of the food and beverage staff,” Mozzie was saying, “I’m presenting our manifesto. There are a number of workplace conditions we need to discuss, not to mention a restructuring of wages and there’s the matter of an event I’ve scheduled for tomorrow.”

“What event?” Jane looked on in dismay as Mozzie opened the binder and pointed to a paragraph. “A picket? What are you picketing for?”

“The basic rights of the serving class have been ignored for far too long. We can’t let another day go by without taking a stand.”

“Serving class?” she repeated.

“That’s our title. Food Servers and Beverage Servers. Clearly a reference to our diminished status as compared to the lords and masters of this estate. You should really think about joining us. You’ll see here,” Mozzie flipped through the binder to another page, “I’ve shown how underrepresented women are among management. If you could confirm your salary, I think I could prove you’re subject to a glass ceiling.”

“Hey, Nick, is that you?” called out George Knightley, who conveniently happened to be walking by.

“George! Good to see you. I didn’t know you’d joined Highbury,” said Neal. “Jane was going to give me a tour, but she needs to deal with an issue here.”

“Good morning, Ms. Fairfax,” George said. “I don’t mind showing Nick around.”

“Oh no, I’m really supposed to –” she started, only to be interrupted by Mozzie.

“We’re also going to stage a walkout this afternoon.”

“What? No! You can’t walk out.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” George said. “I’m ex-military, and reconnaissance is still in the back of my mind when I visit new locations. I remember my way around this place, and I won’t let Nick get lost. How about I bring him back to the dining room for lunch?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Neal. “Looks like it’ll be raining again soon. Let’s show you the outside spaces before it starts to pour.” They abandoned Jane to Mozzie.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal had already memorized the layout of the grounds from yesterday’s briefing, but now he took in the details that hadn’t been mentioned. Six-foot hedges provided privacy and blocked the view of less picturesque aspects of the estate such as garages and a garden shed. Looking up, he could see a helicopter sitting on the flat roof of the nearest garage. “Wait. Let me text Tricia and tell her I found the bird she was looking for.”

George chuckled. “They use it for bringing in VIPs, and sometimes they’ll give guests aerial tours of the city. Or so they said. I think it’s mostly for show. Agent Wiese said the B&B staff told her not to worry about the chopper spooking the wildlife because it’s so rarely used. Fuel for those isn’t exactly cheap. Here we go.” He stepped through a break between the hedges. “Back door to the master suite. Your friend said he unlocked it for you and left what you need inside. I’ll stand watch.”

Mozzie had indeed left all the equipment Neal needed. The safe was high quality, but not a match for his skills. In a matter of minutes the door swung open, and Neal reached inside for the contents. “It looks like passports,” he said into his watch as he swept the documents into a bag Mozzie had provided.

“Uh, Neal?” he heard George say.

Neal closed the door to the safe, and turned around to grab his supplies. He could be out of here in seconds if necessary.

“Someone wants to talk to you,” George continued.

“Hello, Neal,” said Kate as she entered the suite.

“You need any help?” George asked.

“No, I’ve got it,” Neal said, and George went back outside, leaving the door ajar.

Neal finished gathering the supplies into the pack Mozzie had provided. It didn’t take long. He’d learned to keep his jobs neat and orderly so that erasing signs of his presence could happen quickly. “You always had great timing. Have a seat.”

Kate settled into a wingback chair facing the fireplace, and Neal took a matching chair after turning on a nearby Tiffany lamp. The suite was dark and dramatic, with deep brown wood floors, heavy burgundy silk curtains with blackout linings, and coordinating burgundy and blue bedding and upholstery. Persian rugs with the same colors helped muffle sound within the room. Side tables, bureaus and a massive wardrobe were probably original to the house, wood pieces painted black with deco styling.

The medium green slacks and sweater Kate wore weren’t her best color, but would blend well with the extensive hedges nearby and the forested landscape at the edges of the property. Neal had seen a lot of evergreens on the drive, and the scents of spruce and juniper had been pervasive on the walk to the master suite’s entrance.

Neal pulled a passport out of the bag at random, opening it to see a familiar face from Adler’s inner retinue. Gil Goddard, but with a new name. The next passport was also for Gil, with yet another alias, and the next he checked was for Kate. “These are excellent work.”

“The best money can buy. Vincent left a message for a few of us that we received after he disappeared. If we kept the Feds from finding him and his money, then within a year he’d give us the key to joining him.”

“What was the key he promised? It wasn’t a key to the safe.”

“In a way it was.” Kate handed Neal a folded piece of paper she’d had in her pocket. “The day before I contacted you, the man you know as Gil Goddard received this.”

Neal unfolded it to find an Atlantic bond – the supposedly unforgeable bond that he had forged when he was 21.

“You were intended to be the key, Neal. This was supposed to be leverage. Of course Vincent had no idea you’d end up making a deal with the Feds and getting immunity for this.”

“How did he even know about it?”

“He knew you had secrets. Nick Halden had an impeccable ID but virtually no background. After you and I got involved, Vincent gave me something to put in your drink one night. While you slept it off, I searched your whole apartment for anything to tell us who you really were. The only thing I found were the bonds. He discovered that a Neal Caffrey was wanted for forging them, and the sketch of the forger looked a lot like you. Vincent thought Gil could use the information to obtain your help someday, since it became clear you had a number of potentially useful skills. But it’s better this way. I don’t want to blackmail a friend. I’d rather let you know what’s going on, and ask for your help. I’m sorry I had to mislead you to get to this point.”

Neal had many questions for Kate, and not nearly enough time to ask them. “You and me… was any of it real?”

Kate leaned forward. “Of course it was. I liked you, Neal. I still do. But I can’t be who you want me to be. You have a romanticized image of me that I can’t live up to. In the long run we both would have resented each other over that.”

“And you like Adler more.”

“I owe him more than I can ever repay. Vincent helped me at a time when I was desperate. He didn’t gain anything from it, and he still helped me.”

“He gained your loyalty.” Neal let his eyes take in her luminous face one last time, memorizing her as if she were a subject for a painting who couldn’t sit for him. “You were his Daisy.”

“Not in the most literal _Great Gatsby_ sense. I wasn’t his mistress. But we did meet in secret here to make plans.” She paused. “Neal, have you decided which side you’re on?”

“In other words, who’s going to get these passports?”

“Please, Neal. You have to give them to me. Don’t turn your back on what we had. It wasn’t everything you dreamed it was, but it wasn’t all a lie, either.”

Neal shook his head. “You owe Adler, but I owe Peter. I can’t do that to him.”

“Peter?”

“My boss at the FBI. But he’s more than a boss. He’s a friend, a mentor… He’s what Adler pretended to be, but he’s real.”

“You were both pretending.” Kate stood up. “It’s not as black and white as Vincent versus the Bureau. Vincent couldn’t have gotten away and gone undetected all of this time without their assistance. The only way he knows who betrayed him and who didn’t is because his contacts in the Bureau told him.”

“I’m not naïve, Kate. I know all about dirty cops. When I looked at the case files it was obvious Adler had gotten to at least one agent.”

“They won’t thank you for pointing it out. You know what happens to whistle-blowers. They’ll hate you for it. Then where will you be? Wouldn’t you rather join us now, than wait to be kicked out by your so-called friends at the Bureau and then beg us to let you in?”

Neal remained relaxed in his chair, legs stretched out in front of him, clearly not planning to jump up and restrain her. The bag of passports was in his hand. “It wouldn’t exactly be freely joining you, though, would it? You think I didn’t notice the gun at the small of your back? You’re not going to believe any assurances I give you at gunpoint.”

“This isn’t how I wanted it to be.” Kate reached behind her back, but before she could get to the gun, Agent Tricia Wiese twisted her arm.

“Good, because that’s not how it’s going to be this time.” Tricia had Kate cuffed in seconds. “Thanks for the heads up about the gun, Neal. I’ll take the passports.” After he handed them over, Tricia followed him outside, leaving Kate locked in the master suite. “We’ll leave her here for now. Leading a handcuffed suspect away would raise too much attention.”

Neal looked back at the suite with regret. But he did Kate one last favor, and didn’t tell anyone that she would be out of those cuffs and out of the room within minutes. She couldn’t crack safes yet, but she had learned a lot from him.

“Hey, Neal?”

It was Tricia, and Neal gathered from her tone that he’d missed something. Not good. Peter would be stressing over Neal letting Kate get to him, wondering if she’d made him doubt the FBI and his role with them. “Sorry. What?”

“I just wanted to tell you: Good job. I know it hasn’t been easy, but most of us do think of you as part of the team now. If Peter were here, I’m sure he’d say, ‘Go get ‘em, slugger.’”

Neal shook his head. “I’m pretty sure if Peter were here he’d be swearing a blue streak. He’s not a big fan of Kate.”

“You’re not rattled, though, are you? I’m a little surprised, given everything I’d heard about your relationship with Kate. A lot of agents would be off their game right now.”

“One thing I learned in my former career is that you have to live in the moment during a heist.”

“We prefer the term _case_ or _assignment_. But I understand not dwelling on things you can’t change in the middle of an op. Good luck.” Tricia patted him on the shoulder and then headed back toward the B &B.

Keeping busy helped Neal get past the conversation with Kate for now. As George brought the tour back inside the main building, Neal paid close attention to the routes to and from Frank Churchill’s office. The office was on the exterior of the building, with French doors leading to a patio. From there it would be easy to head into the gardens, or even to the garages if for some reason Neal had a need to steal a car and make a run for it.

As they walked toward the dining room, George wore a disarmingly crooked grin. “What’s got you so happy?” Neal asked him.

“Oh, just thinking about a conversation I had with your cousin yesterday.”

“Are you going to let me in on the joke?”

They stopped at the entrance to the dining room. On a weekday barely a quarter of the tables were in use. They selected a table near a window with a water view. The _Executive Decision_ was reassuringly visible. A waitress stopped by with menus, and then Mozzie asked what they wanted to drink. George asked for water, and Neal ordered Scotch on the rocks. After the waitress took their meal orders, they finally had a chance to talk again.

“You were going to tell me what Henry said,” Neal prompted.

George grinned again. “No, I wasn’t. But I’ll make you a trade. You tell me why an investigation and security firm like Win-Win hires a bunch of psychologists, and I’ll tell you _why_ I can’t tell you about my conversation with your cousin.”

“Your drinks, messieurs.” Mozzie delivered their glasses with a flair. Neal hid a grimace at the drink that looked like Scotch but tasted mostly like water. “And to ensure our illustrious hosts smell alcohol on your breath, voila, a Scotch-scented candy for after your meal. The taste is, alas, medicinal.”

Neal palmed the candy. “Thanks, Dante. And why does the bartender with an Italian name have a terrible French accent?”

“Because a terrible Italian accent would be unforgivable.”

When Mozzie left, Neal resumed his conversation with George. “What’s with the lightheartedness in the middle of an op? I figured Mr. Ex-Military would be all laser-focused and serious.”

“I will be, when the time comes. But right now I have a different mission. I warned you about caffeine, but adrenaline isn’t going to do you any favors, either. The best way to slow you down is to make you laugh.”

“I had no idea that’s what they taught people in the Navy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They taught me that in medical school. You have to pay big bucks to learn this stuff. Now tell me about Win-Win.”

“Do you read mysteries?”

George shrugged. “Sure, when I have time.”

“Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett?”

“The masters of the hard-boiled detective genre. It’s been awhile.”

“Win-Win was opened in the 1960s by two former FBI agents who loved those stories. Law enforcement agencies were starting to embrace the idea of criminal profiles, but Win-Win took it further. They remembered the lesson from those classic mysteries: the client always lies. There’s usually some secret the client wants to keep hidden. It’s important to understand their motives, in order to help them find the answer or solution that will make them satisfied. And a satisfied customer is more likely to pay the bills and bring more business your way. At first Win-Win hired psychologists and made it look like they were the receptionists. But those receptionists were there to measure up the clients and tell the investigators how to handle them. Eventually they started to pair up those investigators and ‘receptionists’ to analyze clues, witnesses and suspects. The psychologists also handle a lot of the witness and suspect interviews, using their skills to get the most information out of those people.”

“That’s either twisted or brilliant. I’m not sure which.”

“Probably both. Henry’s mom was legendary for how she dealt with clients and suspects. And Henry…” Neal glanced at the watch that was transmitting their conversation to Peter, Henry and Graham. He winked at George. “Well, he tries. One of these days he’ll get the hang of it. Or if not, they’ll move him to management.”

George laughed as a waitress delivered their food. When she was gone he said, “Now I almost wish I could tell you everything. Whatever comes of your cousin’s career at Win-Win, I have to say I’m impressed by his skills. Yesterday afternoon he asked me what I remembered about the time up until I was drugged. He had me try some deep breathing, made a few comments, asked me a few questions, and next thing I knew, I remembered more.” George looked around the room. “When I came here that first time, I was dressed like you, like every man in this room: suit with long sleeve shirt and a tie. In order to give me a shot in my upper arm, they had to devise a way to get me out of most of those clothes without making me suspicious. With Henry’s guidance that memory came back to me. Obviously it was something that happened before I was drugged, and they had planted a suggestion that I forget it.”

“And you can’t tell me how they got your shirt off?”

“Henry and I agreed that the element of surprise is critical. If you know what to expect, you won’t be surprised, and that would make them suspicious. So I can’t tell you. But I’m really looking forward to watching it happen to someone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Silbrith for her work as my location scout. When I told her my needs for the Enscombe estate, she told me the mansion in White Collar episode “Hard Sell” was on Long Island, and that area fit my needs exactly. Learning The Great Gatsby was also set there provided even more inspiration.
> 
> In next week’s chapter Neal is finally drugged and chaos ensues. And for those asking about Neal’s family, Noelle will return in chapter 17, and Neal’s grandparents arrive in chapter 18.
> 
> Meanwhile, I’m going on vacation, looking forward to some time on the beach. I don’t think my island vacation will be as exciting as Neal and Mozzie’s island adventure in season 4, which is fine with me. A little relaxation and time to write are all I ask.


	16. The Blue Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a medical expert, and the drug Flashback is a figment of my imagination.

**Enscombe estate on Long Island. Thursday afternoon.  February 26, 2004.**

Mozzie delivered another water disguised as Scotch on the rocks to Neal in the Enscombe dining area. Lunch had ended and the “initiation event” had started. To Mozzie it looked like speed dating for job seekers. Neal and George remained at their table, visited by a constant stream of people. At first they were Highbury employees, offering advice on Nick Halden’s resume or asking mock interview questions. The next group to drop by the table were members of Highbury who talked to “Nick” about their companies and described jobs that might be a good fit for him. A few were there to speak to George, and some of them also stopped to talk to job seekers at other tables.

Mozzie sighed as he listened to a perky young woman describe the joys of account management. Convincing clients to give you more money was such a great set up for a con, and she was sucking all the life out of it. Corporations were merely legitimized criminal operations, turning employees into unthinking drones who took money from equally unthinking masses. Faceless companies appropriated the conman’s art form and made it boring. He rolled his eyes as he took an order for a strawberry daiquiri.   What a waste of rum.

All of the workers at Enscombe received a list of clients expected each day, with photos, and were expected to greet visitors by name. Neal was the only new client on today’s list. Several expected visitors had cancelled, due to the sinkhole blocking the main road into the area. The extra hour added to the round trip had deterred some people from making the drive. It had made Neal late getting here, but the initiation event was going to be shorter than planned due to the smaller number of participants. Mozzie estimated it would be about 15 minutes before Neal met with Frank Churchill.

Plenty of time to search his office, as Frank was currently in the dining area flirting with Jane Fairfax. If Mozzie had time, he’d try to help her see that she could do much better than a man who thought a light beer was the ideal drink. Some people had no imagination.

The suits had given him a bug to plant in Frank’s office, to serve as a backup in case anything happened to Neal’s watch. Mozzie placed it under the mahogany desk top. “Testing,” he said. “The rain forest weeps for the illegal logging that likely brought you this hiding place.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“Who is this guy?” asked Graham Winslow, who was assigned to listen to the bug Mozzie placed while Henry listened to the feed from Neal’s watch.

“Paranoid criminal genius with a warped social conscience,” Henry said. “And a friend of Neal’s.”

“What have we got?” asked Peter, who had been giving an update to Hughes.

“Neal’s still networking,” said Henry. “Mozzie planted the bug.”

“Now he’s searching Churchill’s office,” Graham added.

“He was supposed to plant the bug and get out of there. If he abandons his post as bartender he’ll raise suspicion.”

“He’s found something,” Graham said. “They store the drugs in a cabinet in the office.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Peter, pressing the button that put the office bug on speaker.

_“Same drug name and manufacturer, but two types of packaging. Some are in a red box and some are in blue,”_ Mozzie was saying.

“What does the color signify?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” Henry said. “It was more than a year ago when I did my research. At that time there was only one version of the drug, and it was packaged in red. I don’t get it. If they came up with a revised formula, I should have seen something about it in the industry journals.”

_“Someone’s approaching from the hall,”_ Mozzie said. “ _I’ll slip out the back_.”

“I’ll call Win-Win,” Graham said, “get them to contact the manufacturer.” He went up to the deck where he’d get a clearer signal for his cell phone.

From the bug, they heard a male voice say, _“No, grab one of the blue boxes this time.”_

The voice they knew as Jane Fairfax responded, “ _I haven’t had a chance to read the packaging on those. And there’s a whole page of instructions inside the box, you know._ ”

_“I know, same as for the red boxes. You’re not a doctor, Jane. The red ones are expiring. The blue ones are new. We want to use the best, newest stuff. Do your job and don’t overcomplicate it.”_

They heard what sounded like a box being torn open. Soon Jane said _, “It’s ready.”_

_“Good girl. Aw, don’t pout, now. I know you don’t like this part, but keep thinking about that big wedding we can afford with the bonuses we get from doing this. We’re getting close. And it’s not like we hurt anyone.”_

_“It always scares me when they’ve been drinking. The warnings clearly state you should avoid alcohol.”_

_“The drunker they are, the faster we get through this. C’mon and give me a kiss for luck and then we’ll bring in the newest member.”_

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie handed Neal a third faux Scotch on the rocks moments before Frank Churchill approached the table and introduced himself as the manager of Highbury’s Enscombe operations. “Come back to my office,” he said. “My assistant Jane and I will have a quick chat with you. We want to hear your thoughts on the opportunities you heard about today. And we’ll share a few suggestions from the career coaches who spoke to you and listened in on your conversations during the networking.”

“Sure,” Neal didn’t quite slur the word, but came close, and he gave Frank a big sloppy grin designed to give the impression that he was buzzed.

“I’ll walk with you,” said George. “Since it isn’t raining yet I’m going to change into sweats and shoot some hoops.”

Neal nodded, recalling that the basketball hoops were near the patio off of Frank’s office. It would have George immediately available if Neal needed help. “Maybe I’ll join you later,” he said.

“Don’t count on it,” Frank cautioned as they left the dining room. “New members stress themselves out. By the time we finish the initiation, most of them want to rest. That’s a big reason we encourage clients to stay the night. Those who –”

Suddenly a side door opened and Jane Fairfax rushed through. She seemed to bounce off Frank and stumble directly into Neal, knocking him against the wall of the narrow, dark paneled hall. She’d been holding a wide metal platter, which ended up pressed between them. As Jane stepped away, Neal stared down at the wood chips and dried flowers fluttering down from his chest. It smelled like he’d been attacked by a forest, and the scent was so overpowering he sneezed a couple of times.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Halden. We make our own potpourri here, and I was going to set this out to dry.” Jane tried to brush away the stray pieces lingering on his shirt, and Neal grabbed her hands as they neared his belt.

“I got it,” Neal said. He took off his jacket and tie, shaking them to get rid of the potpourri, but the scent wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“Too bad you chose not to stay the night,” Frank said. “Then you’d have a change of clothes. We have laundry facilities here. We can clean these for you and lend you a spa robe for now. Jane, will you find a robe?”

“Of course. Don’t worry, Mr. Halden. I’ve had a few spills before and I can promise it doesn’t leave a stain.”

“That’s right,” Frank said, putting an arm around Neal and leading him toward the office. “When you get home you’ll never know it happened.”

“Looks like you’re in good hands,” said George as he neared the corridor leading to the guest rooms. “I’ll see you later.”

In Frank’s office Neal was subjected to a flurry of activity. Frank was urging him to take off his shirt quickly, before the essential oils set into the fabric. Jane was handing Frank a robe and taking Neal’s shirt from him. Another person Neal didn’t recognize whisked away Neal’s shirt, tie and jacket, promising to bring them back in an hour. Frank was holding the robe and Neal had just slipped his right arm in it when he felt the shot in his left shoulder. He looked around to see Jane holding a needle.

They really had this down. Neal hoped he remembered how they managed it when this was over, so he could tell Peter. He didn’t know if the FBI ever needed to drug people, but even as a general distraction their routine was worth emulating. Now he looked at Jane and said, “What are you doing?”

“Tetanus shot,” said Frank as he slipped Neal’s left hand into the second sleeve. “Just in case. That tray had sharp edges.”

“You keep tetanus shots on hand?” Neal asked as Frank guided him toward a chair.

“Of course,” Frank said. “We take care of our guests. All of the employees learn basic first aid. Jane’s the best at giving shots. Her son takes insulin.”

Neal blinked and took a deep breath, faking the lethargy Henry had described as the first effects of the drug. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Just clear your mind,” said Frank. “Forget about the potpourri and the shot. They aren’t important and you aren’t going to think about them again.”

“Mm-hmm.” Neal yawned. “Tired.”

“All you have to do is answer a few questions and then you can sleep. Where did you last see Gil Goddard?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The transmitters in Neal’s watch and the bug were small, so as not to gather attention. They offered only a one-way feed. Tricia and Jones had two-way devices. Peter told both of them to get in position, ready on his command to make the arrest and extract Neal. Jones sprinted up the stairs leading from the dock, waiting behind the hedge closest to Frank’s office. Tricia made her way to her hiding spot, and then kept her binoculars trained on the office.

Peter sent Henry and Graham up to sail the boat to Enscombe’s dock. They were minutes away from making an arrest, but Peter wasn’t going to call this op a success until he saw for himself that Neal was safely in the hands of a psychologist. Henry would be with Neal on the drive to Manhattan, where Noelle would meet them. Her flight back from Baltimore should have landed 20 minutes ago.

They were only halfway to the dock when Peter heard Neal faking the first symptoms of an overdose. Peter checked his watch. According to Henry, Neal shouldn’t be feeling the effects this soon. What they had recorded so far was interesting, but not as incriminating as Peter had hoped. They hadn’t mentioned Adler by name, nor had they asked Nick Halden to reveal anything that could be used for blackmail. Simply having a supply of Flashback and drugging Neal would get a conviction, but they hadn’t handed Peter as much bargaining power as the Bureau had wanted.

_“Something’s wrong,”_ Peter heard Jane say _. “It’s like he’s had an overdose. I told you we should have read the instructions on the blue box.”_

Frank asked Neal another question about Goddard.

_“Frank, listen to me,”_ Jane insisted. _“We’ve got to get him to a hospital. He could die.”_

Frank finally asked a question about Adler. Neal answered, and then convinced them he was nearly unconscious. _“C’mon, wake up,”_ Frank said. _“You’ve got to tell me what the FBI knows about Adler.”_

_“He doesn’t… do things… by the book,”_ Neal murmured.

Peter ordered Jones and Tricia to move in.

_“Frank, stop this,”_ said Jane. _“He needs help.”_

_“You don’t get it, do you? We can’t take a client into a hospital with an overdose. That leads to an investigation and then we’re arrested. We have to spend every last second getting information out of him, and then we’ll have to dispose of the body.”_

Then there were too many voices to follow. Frank demanding more information from Neal, Jane saying she was going to call 911 anyway, and Jones and Tricia yelling at everyone to move away from Neal and put their hands up.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal stepped out onto the patio to get away from the chaos and clear his head. He blinked as he tried to focus on his watch. After a moment of staring at it, he was pretty sure it said 2:30. Probably ten minutes since they’d drugged him. He should have another 20 minutes before he fell asleep, but already he felt exhausted.

What kind of resort didn’t have decent chairs on the patio? There was a ledge where you could sit and look down at the water. Neal considered that. He felt too dizzy to balance on the ledge, and the thought of watching the waves made him queasy. There had been lounge chairs by the pool. Those had looked comfortable. Now which way was the pool?

Neal caught sight of the pool and started in that direction, but the dizziness got worse. He had to keep a hand on the side of the building to stay upright. He paused and tried to figure out how he would manage the walk across the open lawn to reach those lounge chairs.

Leaning against the wall, he tried to orient himself. He wasn’t far from the master suite. There was a bed in there, if he could unlock the door to get inside. He’d also seen a porch swing outside. It wasn’t as nice as a bed but better than sitting on grass that was still soaked from last night’s downpour.

As he finally lowered himself onto the porch swing, he had to admit that he really was experiencing the symptoms of an overdose.

Almost 2:35 now. He’d pass out in 15 minutes, and by 3:00 he’d stop breathing. It was 30 minutes to the nearest hospital, and the detour around the sinkhole added another 30 minutes to the trip. The numbers swirled in his head and were hard to hold onto, but it was obvious that he was going to die this afternoon.

He wondered if he should call someone. Maybe it would be nice to have someone here with him. But then they would have to watch him die. He hadn’t liked watching Byron die. Neal sighed and started singing “Nobody Knows the Trouble” as he tried to decide what to do.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter dashed up from the dock while Henry and Graham were still securing the sailboat. He found Fairfax and Churchill in handcuffs, with Jones and Tricia doing a preliminary search of the office.

“Where’s Neal?” he asked them.

“He stepped outside a few minutes ago,” Tricia said. “Last I checked he was staring out toward the water. I thought he was watching for your arrival. You didn’t see him?”

“No. Tricia, keep an eye on those prisoners. Backup is on the way to take them off your hands and process the scene. Jones, let’s look for Neal.”

Back on the patio, Peter saw three options. He eliminated the option that Neal might have walked down toward the dock. Peter would have seen him on the way up. That left east toward the pool and B&B or west toward the tennis courts and spa. Jones was more familiar with the routes leading toward the B&B, so Peter went west.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Seeing Clinton and Peter step outside, George Knightley guessed it was safe to approach Churchill’s office without interrupting the op. He called out as Clinton started jogging in the direction of the pool.

Clinton changed direction, running over to George to ask, “Did you see where Caffrey went?”

“No. Couple of guys decided to join me at the hoops, and I couldn’t keep staring at Churchill’s office without raising questions. Smoked ‘em. They didn’t believe I was wearing a prosthesis.” George scanned the area as he spoke. “There! That’s a spa robe like Neal was wearing.” Someone wearing a robe like that should have been headed to the spa, but this person was around the corner from the master suite. He disappeared from view as he followed the corner of the building, but George and Clinton ran after him. They found Neal on a porch swing, humming mournfully.

“You don’t have to stay,” Neal told them.

George took his pulse and studied Neal’s pupils. “Dizzy?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Neal answered.

“Nauseated?”

“At first. Not so much now. Really tired though.”

“Still pretending to overdose?” Clinton asked.

“He’s not faking.”

“I know,” Neal said. “Sucks, doesn’t it? Too late to drive to the hospital. This is nice, though. It’s kind of pretty here.” Rain started falling and he scowled as drops fell on his face. “Get me to the door. I can pick it. There’s a bed in there. If I can get to that I’ll be ok. You don’t have to stay,” he repeated.

“You’re not giving up yet,” George said, putting an arm around Neal. “Clinton, help me get him on his feet. I hope to God you’re still a licensed pilot because we’re taking him to that helicopter.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Officially Henry and Graham’s part of the operation was over. They were supposed to wait until Peter invited them up from the sailboat to escort Neal back to Manhattan. But Henry shared Neal’s disdain for following orders. He’d grabbed the backup two-way radio Peter had left on the boat, and was flipping through the channels while he and Graham walked up from the dock.

Tricia was asking when the team assigned to process the scene was going to show up so she could help Peter. Peter was asking a bystander if she’d seen Nick Halden. Jones was reporting that he thought he saw Neal. Then Henry hit the feed from Neal’s watch. It was the only the signal that wouldn’t let him send a response back. He listened with dismay.

Henry couldn’t get back to the feed from Jones without cycling through them all again. Damn the FBI and their skimpy government budgets. By now he was on the patio, watching a swarm of agents in FBI jackets fill Churchill’s office. Tricia was headed down a corridor toward the front of the building, and Henry followed with Graham.

Back to Tricia’s feed. She was asking Peter for a status. Peter was asking Jones for a status. Finally back to Jones.

_“… by helicopter. Haven’t flown one of these since I left the Navy.   But if I can land on a moving ship, I can land on a hospital.”_

_Neal laughed. “Peter always says I have a flight instinct. Really going to fly this time.”_

_“Let’s get you buckled in. That’s right. Ready when you are, Clinton.”_

_“Hey, Jones, how’d you get them to lend you a helicopter?”_

_“We commandeered it, Caffrey.”_

_“Huh. You stole that for me?”_

Following Tricia out the main entrance, Henry heard the helicopter, and watched it take off. He hit the send button on the radio to tell Jones, “You take care of him.” But Jones didn’t respond; he was talking to an air traffic controller who had patched him into a trauma hospital with a helicopter pad. The hospital was called Jacobi, Henry heard. Knowing the destination he wanted to reach, he turned to Tricia. “Where’s your car?”

She gestured toward the east. “We parked at the B&B.”

“Too far,” muttered Henry. “We’ll have to steal one of these.” Several Highbury guests had parked along the circle drive, and Henry started walking toward the car that looked the fastest.

Tricia took hold of his jacket and spun him around. “That’s not how we do things.”

Peter ran over to them. “We need a car.”

Several people had gathered outside, asking about the apparent FBI raid and the helicopter. One of them stood next to a luxury car and was dressed like a driver. “You!” Tricia said, walking up to him and pulling out her badge. “Who does this car belong to?”

“H-H-Highbury,” he said, clearly intimidated. “I’m gonna take Mr. Churchill back to Manhattan for a meeting.”

“Change of plans,” Tricia informed him. “Give me the keys.”

The driver looked like he wanted to protest, but gave up the keys without a word.

“I’ll drive,” Peter said.

“Not on your life,” Tricia responded. “You’re too upset, and you know you’re going to be on that radio the whole time, trying to talk to Jones. You take shotgun.”

Henry and Graham slid into the backseat before Tricia could start the engine and speed away without them. Within minutes she came to a stop at a roadblock, and rolled down the driver’s side window. “What’s the hold up?” she asked.

“Sinkhole opened up this morning,” said a man wearing the bright vest of a road construction crew member. “We’ve cleared out the debris, but the engineers are still checking out the road for structural integrity. Only emergency vehicles are getting through right now. There’s a detour –”

Tricia flashed her badge again. “We’re on our way to the hospital. Let us through.”

Henry elbowed Graham, who obligingly closed his eyes and groaned.

“Please, Pops,” Henry said. “Hold on. We’re almost there.”

“Call my lawyer,” Graham said on a moan. “I’m going to put you back in my will.”

“These are rich people,” Tricia said to the road worker. “They’ll sue anyone who gets in the way of taking Mr. Winslow to the hospital. You want to tell me your name for the record?”

The man waved them through. Tricia rolled up her window.

“If you ever want a job, young lady,” Graham said as the car started moving again.

“You can’t hire anyone, Pops. You’re retired from Win-Win.” Henry’s heart wasn’t in the joke this time, but he squeezed Graham’s hand, silently thanking him for trying to keep things upbeat.

“Jones, what’s your status?” Peter asked. “Jones? Come in.”

They heard a burst of static, followed by, _“We have clearance to land. George, how’s Caffrey doing?”_

_“Get us landed pronto, Clinton. He’s passed out and his breathing is way too shallow.”_

Graham’s cell phone beeped. He pulled it out to read the text message from Win-Win: “Blue box = concentrated formula. 3X normal dose.”

Henry’s blood ran cold as he read the message. “No,” he said. They probably didn’t hear him in the front seat, because the words on Graham’s phone had stolen his breath. This wasn’t a minor overdose. Neal might not make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Silbrith for acting as editor, beta and location scout. She recommended Jacobi as a trauma hospital with a helipad near Long Island.
> 
> I had a fun vacation in Hawaii, and also made good progress in writing while I was away from work. In fact, next week I’ll post 2 chapters of hospital angst as Neal’s friends and family anxiously wait for Neal to recover. Henry’s finally going to provide some glimpses into what Neal was like as a teenager.


	17. The Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a medical expert. My apologies if you are an expert; try to suspend your disbelief and go with the flow. Also, I rearranged the layout of Jacobi Hospital to fit the needs of this story.

**Jacobi Hospital. Thursday afternoon. February 26, 2004.**

Looking around him, Peter recalled one of his classes at Quantico. The instructor had said that a mediocre team can handle a well-planned op, but a great team can handle the emergencies. Here in the Jacobi Hospital ER, Peter knew he had pulled together a great team for the Enscombe op.

George Knightley was conferring with a doctor about the drug Neal had been given while undercover, when it had been administered, and what his reactions had been before passing out in the helicopter.

Tricia Wiese was handling the people who wanted Neal’s insurance and medical history. As part of their contingency planning, Tricia had that info for everyone participating in the op.

Henry Winslow was making it known that he was Neal’s next of kin, and demanding to see him.

Peter stood with Graham Winslow, trying to think of something he could do to help. Absolutely nothing came to mind. “Damn it.”

Graham patted him on the back. “I know how you feel. It’s hard for a man of action when your people have everything handled. But at the same time you know you shouldn’t complain about having a competent team.”

Finished with the paperwork, Tricia walked over to her boss. “They should have what they need. Jones had to get the helicopter out of the way in case the helipad is needed for other patients. He’s on his way back to Enscombe. I assume you’ll want to take charge here?”

Peter nodded.

“Then I’ll go back to the Bureau. Hughes needs to be brought up to date, and Churchill and Fairfax will be there soon for questioning.”

“Thanks, Tricia.”

She glanced back toward the organized chaos of the emergency room and then said, “He’s young and healthy and stubborn, Peter. That counts for a lot. And they’ll take good care of him here.” She gave him a half hug, and then said to Graham, “Make sure he calls his wife and doesn’t try to subsist on coffee,” before leaving.

“Good advice. And I see someone else who needs some advice.” Graham strode toward his grandson, and Peter followed.

Peter was able to get a glimpse into Neal’s room. The kid’s dark hair was a stark contrast to the white sheets and his pale face. A machine Peter couldn’t name seemed to be doing the breathing for Neal. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Henry had warned in yesterday’s planning session that an overdose could put Neal on life support, but it was still shocking to see.

“Enough, Henry,” said Graham. “The nurse said she’s told you all she can. Let her do her job. Come out to the waiting room now and give your mother a call. She needs to know what happened.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Noelle Winslow had rented a less excessive suite than her father-in-law’s, but at the same hotel. Hers had a central living area, and two bedrooms. She thought it best to have a place for Neal to sleep if he needed to rest. Going through his repressed memories would probably be exhausting.

According to Peter’s timeline they should arrive soon, but she had learned at Win-Win that cases moved at their own pace. She had brought along students’ papers to grade to pass the time, and she was reviewing them now, wearing the reading glasses she still refused to wear in public.

Her cell phone rang and she saw it was Henry. “Are you on your way?” she asked.

“No.” There was a pause. “We’re at Jacobi Hospital. It’s in the Bronx. Can you come here?”

“Of course.” She was already slipping her shoes on. “What happened?”

“They gave Neal a massive overdose of Flashback. He’s in the emergency room and he’s… it’s…” She could picture Henry running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. “Mom.” He sounded like a lost, frightened child. “They give him a 50/50 chance of making it till dawn.”

“I’ll be right there,” she promised, proud of how cool and collected she had managed to sound for her son. Then she dialed a number from memory as she picked up her room key and coat.

“Hey, honeybunch,” answered Irene Caffrey in Washington, D.C.

“How fast can you and Dad get to New York?”

“Noelle, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, Mom,” said Noelle, aware that she sounded as forlorn as Henry had.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The hospital staff had said they were going to move Neal to the intensive care unit and directed Peter, Henry, Graham and George to that area’s waiting room. A nurse promised to let them know as soon as they had Neal settled. But enough time had passed that even George was checking his watch and saying, “It doesn’t normally take this long.”

Henry stood and announced, “I’m going back in there.”

“Wait,” Peter said as he also stood up. “I’m going with you.”

Inside the ER again, they encountered a flurry of activity around the victims of a car crash, and a nurse who explained that moving Neal had been postponed temporarily as the new patients were triaged. “They’re stabilized now, and we’re ready to move Mr. Caffrey. In fact he’s…” She paused as a beeping caught her attention. She ran into Neal’s room and called for help. A doctor pushed Henry and Peter aside, shouting orders as he followed the nurse.

Peter wasn’t a medical expert, but the piercing sounds coming from one of the machines in the room sounded dire, and the line that he assumed represented Neal’s heartbeat was almost flat. The doctor looked up and ordered Henry out of the way.

Henry stepped aside as someone rushed in, but then he moved forward, clearly intent on standing at Neal’s bedside throughout the ordeal.

“I need space. Get him out!” the doctor ordered.

“Come on, Henry,” Peter said. They took several steps away and Peter was grateful the young man was going to be reasonable.

“Hurry up,” they heard the doctor say. “I’m losing him.”

Henry spun around and Peter barely kept up with him, but he got an arm around Henry’s waist and strained to keep him from running forward. Henry seemed to give up, but the second Peter loosened his grip, Henry surged forward again. This time Peter got both arms around him, pulling Henry backward a step. “Henry, stop it!”

“Let me go!   He’s dying!”

“And they’re working to keep him alive,” Peter insisted. It was taking all of his strength to hold back the desperate young man. “We have to stay out of their way. You running in there is going to distract them when they need to stay focused on Neal.”

“What is going on here?” Noelle Winslow’s heels tapped decisively against the tile floor as she approached.

Henry finally stopped struggling and dropped to his knees, panting. “I could have stopped him. I could have talked him out of it, but I let him go undercover and be drugged and now he’s dying.”

Peter crouched to Henry’s right, patting his back but not knowing what to say. Henry’s words echoed his own worries and sense of guilt.

Noelle kneeled at her son’s left side. “Quiet, Henry. Listen to what they’re saying in Neal’s room. They think they have it under control.”

As Henry’s breath slowed to normal, the nurse they had been talking to earlier returned. “We’re getting him stable enough to move to ICU. Please go back to the waiting room. I promise we’ll let you know as soon as we have him moved.”

When they entered the waiting area, Graham rose and asked, “What happened in there? You all look pale as ghosts.”

In a shaky voice, Henry said, “I think his heart stopped for a minute.”

Graham enveloped Noelle and Henry in a bear hug. Compared to his steadiness, it was easier to pick up on the fine trembling in Henry and Noelle. Henry started to slip away, and Graham grabbed his sleeve. He loosened his hold on Noelle to pull his grandson closer, and said, “Your father always used to pull away. He’d say, ‘Not here, Dad. We work with these people.’ It’s always business with him, even with family. I’m not letting you turn into him.” Keeping one arm around Henry’s shoulders, Graham introduced George Knightley to Noelle, explaining that the former Navy commander had helped save Neal’s life.

“You have the gratitude of his entire family,” Noelle said, with the slightest tremor in her voice. Then she sank into a chair beside her son, took his hand, and simply said, “Tell me.” She listened as Henry described what had happened at Enscombe and Neal’s current status. He seemed to gather himself, gaining control and coherence as he went. When Henry stopped, Noelle ruffled his hair and then turned to Peter. “Thank you. He needed your help.”

Peter shrugged. “He wasn’t doing anything I didn’t want to do myself. If I hadn’t been busy holding him back, I might have been the one running into Neal’s room and getting in the way.” Despite Noelle’s outward composure, Peter saw a brightness that indicated tears in her eyes. Wishing Elizabeth were here to help navigate the emotions, he said, “You know, I should really call El. She’ll want to be here.”

A phone call and cup of coffee later, they were finally told that Neal had been moved to a room in the ICU, and Peter, Noelle and Henry were shown the way. They took turns going in to see him. Henry went first.

While they waited outside for their turns, Noelle said, “I’m glad Neal has you as a father figure, Peter. I can tell you’ve been a stabilizing influence. You mean a great deal to him.”

“Yeah, um, he’s a great kid. He deserves to have a family. I suppose once he reconnects with his real relatives he won’t need me anymore.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Noelle said. “I don’t believe he would casually drop a connection with someone he loves. It’s that depth of feeling that makes him cautious about getting to know us. He’s made it clear he isn’t ready for a big family reunion yet. Henry hopes the surprise party your wife is helping to plan will give Neal the chance to meet and get used to everyone in a small enough dose that he can handle. Just a few hours with the family at a neutral location and then he can escape.”

Henry walked out and held the curtain open as Noelle walked in the room. Peter heard her gasp. “You did the same thing. What’s that about?” Peter asked.

“They’ve got him hooked up to about every machine they could fit in the room. All of those wires and tubes, it makes him look… fragile.” Henry looked more composed than he had been in the ER, but he took a deep breath that sounded almost like a sob. “Pops said he’d found a coffee machine on this level. If you’re ok here, I’m going to ask him where it was.”

“Go ahead.” Peter pulled out his phone as soon as Henry started walking away, scrolling down his contacts until he found Graham – another precaution they had taken for this op, making sure they all had each other’s numbers programmed into their phones. He texted: “Henry looking for coffee. Make sure he eats something.”

Then Noelle returned from Neal’s room. She looked around and then smiled sadly. “Elizabeth.”

Peter turned to see El walking toward them and he instinctively moved forward to close the gap. “Hey, hon,” he said as she hugged him. He closed his eyes a moment and held her close, gathering strength from her. Then he looked up to tell Noelle, “Henry went to get coffee. I texted Graham to get him some food, too.”

Noelle checked her watch. “Good idea. We should all get something for dinner when you’re ready to join us back in the waiting room. I’m sure there’s a cafeteria nearby.”

Peter nodded and told El, “It’s my turn to see Neal, and then we’ll eat. Do you want to head back with Noelle?”

“No, I’ll wait for you,” Elizabeth said.

Peter told himself that he wouldn’t gasp like the others when he entered Neal’s room for the first time, but he did take a sharp breath. El peeked through before the curtain closed, and she gasped. It was hard to be optimistic about Neal’s chances when the hospital staff had determined he needed so many medical devices and what appeared to be bags of medications delivered by IV drips.

They’d shared a hotel room in St. Louis in December. Peter had seen Neal deeply asleep after taking nighttime cold medicine and he tried to tell himself this was the same. But it wasn’t. Neal was in grave danger and there was frustratingly little that Peter could do about it. He placed a hand gently on the kid’s chest and repeated the words he’d said Sunday. “Neal. Son, come back to me.”

Peter watched carefully for any change, any sign Neal had heard him. But it seemed that the third time wasn’t the charm. Peter shook his head at the ridiculous notion that calling Neal “son” would somehow work magic. “I know I said I didn’t expect obedience from you, but just this once I’d really like to order you to open your eyes.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The Burkes and Winslows gathered for dinner in a hospital cafeteria. George Knightley had gone back to Jones’ apartment to change out of his sweats, but promised he would be back later in the evening. His knowledge of medicine and of what went on behind the scenes of a hospital had been reassuring, and Peter knew they were all relieved to hear George planned to return.

The food was better than Peter expected, given the reputation of hospital cafeterias, but his mind wasn’t on his food. It wasn’t on conversation, either. The few attempts by members of the group to talk about something other than Neal hadn’t lasted long.

Henry pushed away his tray and said, “Sometimes you drastically change someone’s life, and you don’t even realize. Peter, what you’ve done for Neal, it’s what I wanted to do. I thought maybe if I could get him into Win-Win it would turn his life around, but I was years away from being able to do it. By then it may have been too late. You’ve kept him out of prison, given him a purpose, convinced him there are good guys and that he can be one of them. There’s no way I can thank you for what you’ve done.”

Henry fell silent, but Noelle squeezed his arm. “There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked.

“Neal changed my life and he has no idea,” Henry said. “I couldn’t tell him at the time. He had to believe that tagging along with me was no big deal. Anything else would have been more pressure than a teenager like him could have handled. And now I can’t tell him. I might never be able to tell him.”

“You can tell us,” Elizabeth said.

Henry glanced at Peter and shook his head. “No. Neal has immunity. I don’t.”

Peter saw the interest in Graham and Noelle’s expressions, and the longing in Henry’s eyes. Henry had always been closed-mouthed about the time he’d spent with Neal, even with his family, apparently. But Peter had a feeling the young man wanted to talk about it. Peter drew on years of experience dealing with witnesses who had a story to tell but who were afraid of incriminating themselves. He started by observing, “You said you dropped out of college when you were 20.”

“Yeah. A few months later Mom called and asked me to find Neal.”

“Find him? What happened to him?” Elizabeth asked.

Peter cleared his throat. “Um, El, the U.S. Marshals made me promise not to tell anyone about Neal’s childhood or where he grew up.”

“The Marshals? They’re in charge of Witness Protection, right?”

“That’s right, hon. That means Henry wasn’t supposed to know where Neal ran away from, and there’s a lot he can’t tell you because there are others in Neal’s family who are still under protection.”

“We weren’t supposed to know,” Noelle said, “but we did. Between the fact that my sister stayed in touch against the wishes of the Marshals, and the resources of Winston-Winslow, by the time he was in high school Henry knew where his cousin was and what name Neal was living under. When Neal ran away from home, his mother called me, and I called my ex-husband. He used Win-Win data to track Neal to Chicago. Then we needed Henry to take over. He could get into Neal’s mindset to find where a teen runaway would hide.”

“When I found him he had pneumonia, and I convinced him to go to a hospital. They put him on oxygen and IV drips.” Henry shuddered. “I was terrified that I hadn’t found him in time, and that he was going to die.”

Peter could guess what had happened next. “When the hospital released Neal you decided you had to look after him.”

“The doctors said he’d need a lot of rest and healthy food before he’d be fully recovered. Those hadn’t exactly been high priorities for me in the prior months. I knew he’d be the same way if I left him on his own. He needed someone to stay on his case or he’d probably relapse.” Henry paused. He met Peter’s eyes in a silent acknowledgement that he had figured out what Peter had been doing. Then he took a deep breath and continued. “Suddenly I had a responsibility toward someone else. I had to keep him healthy, and that meant I needed to stay in shape in order to watch out for him. The longer he was with me, the more I came to see he was looking up to me. I realized I needed to set an example that I could be proud of. I… I didn’t stop doing illegal things, but I started doing them for different reasons. Better reasons. It was more for his sake than my own that I found a way to finish college and get a master’s degree.” He paused to drink some water. “When Dad blackmailed Neal into dropping out of my life, it almost crushed me. For a while it felt like I didn’t have a purpose anymore.”

Graham stiffened at Henry’s reference to blackmail. Henry didn’t seem to notice, but Peter could tell Noelle caught it. “You didn’t entirely lose contact, though,” Noelle said.

“No. I don’t think either of us could have handled that. We found ways to stay in touch, trying to stay under the radar. The thing is, that whole time he was with me I made sure he thought I was doing what I wanted without any consideration of him, so he wouldn’t think he was a burden. What I didn’t fully understand, what I didn’t tell him, was that he was the best thing that could have happened to me. Without him, I might have turned into someone completely different, someone I might not respect.” Henry crushed a napkin in his fist. “He never asked anything in return. But it was my job, my responsibility, to keep him alive and healthy, and I failed him.”

“Oh, hush now.” Noelle slid her chair closer to Henry’s, put an arm around him and urged his head down onto her shoulder. “Don’t give up hope. I’m certain Neal is fighting to get back to us. You’ve helped him build a new family here and start to accept that his long-lost relatives want him in our lives. He probably wouldn’t have been able to take that step if it hadn’t been for the security you gave him all those years. That’s more powerful than you realize.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

On the walk back to the ICU waiting area, Elizabeth slid next to Peter, pulling his arm around her. “You’re going along on Henry’s guilt trip, aren’t you?”

“It’s hard not to. I knew the risks, and I authorized the op. Ultimately the team and their safety is my responsibility.”

“And ultimately Neal wanted to take this assignment, and as much as you plan, you still can’t control everything. I’m sure Hughes and your team would agree that you took every reasonable precaution.”

They hadn’t been back in the waiting room long when Hughes called Peter and confirmed what El had said. “There’s no way you could have anticipated this, Peter.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Peter said, “but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Remember what you said during your annual review, about the team feeling like family?”

“Yeah. When I was up for the promotion I talked to a lot of managers in the office about what it was like to be in charge of a team. Several of them said they thought of their team as their adopted kids, and that helping those kids be successful was a trial and a joy, depending on the day.”

“I hope you realize most of your team returns the sentiment. They think of Neal as their younger brother, and today’s events have made them very protective of him. He’s one of ours, Peter. Agent Wiese is still here working through the evidence, with Jones and several others helping. And there’s something you need to know.”

“What did they find?” Peter asked. He tried to keep his tone low key, but apparently didn’t succeed because the others with him in the waiting room were staring at him. He listened to Hughes, nodded and said, “Yes, sir. I’ll be there with Henry Winslow.”

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked as soon as he ended the call.

Peter rubbed his face. “It’s like a bad dream. Henry, you offered to play the role of Nick Halden. Can you really impersonate Neal?”

Henry nodded. “Yeah. I even have blue contact lenses. Who do we need to fool?”

“God, where do I even start? All along, Tricia distrusted the level of coincidence in this case. We had Kate, Adler’s lawyer, and the people running Highbury all conspiring to get Neal to Enscombe at the same time. Tricia pushed Frank Churchill on that topic, and based on what he said, she thinks she’s onto something. But Churchill is refusing to give us the information we need because he thinks he got away with it. Tricia has asked us to let Churchill see Neal – or Henry as Neal – in a follow up interview tomorrow. It could rattle him enough to give us the mastermind behind all of this.”

“Behind what?” Graham asked.

Peter was silent for a minute, unsure how to break the news to Neal’s family. “I like my job. Elizabeth will attest that I spend most of my time being an FBI agent. When I’m working a case, I know what I’m doing. I’m usually in control and I can see that I’m helping people. This… Circumstances like this drive me nuts. I can’t do anything to make Neal recover. I have to stand by and watch doctors and trust they know what they’re doing. But I’ll promise you, the people who hurt him are going to pay. My team and I are going to make sure of it. Whatever Neal goes through here, it won’t be in vain.”

“Are you saying the overdose wasn’t an accident?” Noelle asked.

Peter nodded. “It’s looking like attempted murder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a song called The Waiting by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers with the lyric “the waiting is the hardest part” and I’m sure that’s how Peter would feel hanging out in hospital waiting rooms.   
> The scene of Peter holding Henry back is inspired by the ending of season 1, where Peter keeps Neal from running toward the airplane.


	18. Wake-up Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a medical expert. My apologies if you are an expert; try to suspend your disbelief and go with the flow. Also, I rearranged the layout of Jacobi Hospital to fit the needs of this story.

**Jacobi Hospital, ICU waiting room. Thursday evening. February 26, 2004.**

After Peter announced that his team believed Neal’s Flashback overdose had been an attempted murder, he watched Henry, most worried about his reaction.

It wasn’t a big surprise when Henry came to his feet and started to swear. He paced, ran his hands through his hair and finally stood still to say, “If someone tried to kill Neal, I will tear them apart.”

In waiting rooms of a major hospital like Jacobi, there were always people milling around. Peter had tuned out the other families and staff passing by, and hadn’t been paying attention to the couple walking toward them. But this couple stopped, flanking Henry. The man had steel blue eyes and the bright silver hair that some people got instead of ordinary gray. The woman had green eyes and golden hair that Peter guessed was colored to cover gray. She kissed Henry’s cheek and said, “I’ll help.”

Noelle stood up. “Peter, Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet my parents: Irene and Edmund Caffrey.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Elizabeth watched Neal’s grandparents with awe. Tall and slim like Neal and Noelle, they moved with a grace that belied their age. They zipped through meeting and greeting everyone with the aplomb of seasoned diplomats. Without seeming rushed, and yet barely two minutes after arriving, Irene insisted on being taken to Neal. In a charming voice like Neal’s on a con, but with a hint of a southern drawl, Irene politely deflected all attempts to fill her in first on Neal’s condition and what had happened to him. Instead she zeroed in on Henry as the most likely to comply with her wishes. She took Henry’s arm and smoothly turned him in the direction of the ICU saying, “I’ve been on pins and needles since your mother called us in January to say she’d spoken to Neal. You asked us to be patient till he was ready to meet us, but there are limits and I’ve reached mine. We’re going to see him now, come hell or high water.”

El hoped to be like Irene someday. Curious to see what would happen, she told Peter she was going to the restroom, which was conveniently located on the other side of the ICU. She’d be able to follow the family on their way to see Neal.

“They don’t like visitors during their evening shift change,” Henry warned, but he started walking.

“Let them try and stop me. No one gets between me and my family,” Irene said. “I stood by and let the Marshals take that dear boy away, and that will never be repeated.”

“Even you can’t hold back death,” Henry said, his voice becoming shaky. “Mom told you he might not make it, right?”

“You wait and see. If it comes down to that we’ll give the grim reaper a run for his money. He might win, but at least I’ll see my grandson first.”

Noelle walked beside her father and asked, “Did she tell the pilot to fly faster because her grandson needed her?”

“She restrained herself admirably,” Edmund said. He held Noelle’s hand. “I can’t believe we’re finally about to see Neal again after all of these years.”

“Mom always believed he would come back to us,” Noelle said.

Edmund shook his head. “No matter how many times I told her we had to be realistic and not hold out false hopes... I swear, if anyone can will Neal into surviving, it’s your mother.”

“Before you see him, you should know…” Noelle swallowed. “He looks a lot like David.”

There was a hitch in Edmund’s stride at the reminder of his son, the Air Force pilot who had died last year. He squeezed Noelle’s hand.

Henry had reached Neal’s room. He waited at the entrance while his grandparents went inside.

El heard Edmund gasp, but Irene seemed to ignore all of the tubes and machinery surrounding Neal to focus on her grandson. “Oh, Edmund, he’s beautiful.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

George Knightley returned and conspired with Irene Caffrey to talk the ICU staff into letting someone stay in Neal’s room throughout the night, as opposed to the five-minute visits every half hour that had previously been mandated. Graham Winslow went back to his hotel around 10pm, making Henry promise to call with any updates. Everyone else took turns staying at Neal’s side.

While Henry was in Neal’s room, Elizabeth observed a debate going on between Noelle and her parents. Then the woman disappeared for a few minutes. When Noelle returned, she looked pensive. Wondering if she’d heard something from the hospital staff, El asked, “Is there any news?”

Noelle plopped into a chair, in what El thought was the most inelegant movement she’d ever seen from the woman. Neal’s aunt drank from the cup she had been clutching and made an expression of distaste. “I forgot to freshen my coffee. This is cold.” She stood up again.

El stood up. “I could use some coffee, too. Will you show me where it is?”

Noelle nodded. When they were out of sight of the waiting room and Neal’s grandparents, Noelle paused. She closed her eyes, and took a few deep breaths.

“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked.

Noelle walked to bench in the wide hallway and sat down. “I just had the strangest conversation with my sister.”

El sat beside her. “Neal’s mother? Isn’t she in WITSEC?”

“Yes, and I know I’m not supposed to call her. My father reminded me of that in no uncertain terms. But if it were Henry in there…” Her voice broke. “Even if I couldn’t be here, couldn’t do anything but pray, I’d want to know if my son were in Neal’s condition.”

“Of course you would.” Elizabeth waited a moment to ask, “Can you tell me what she said?”

“She already knew. Someone had told her, and she wouldn’t say who it was. I tried to convince her to go to the Marshals and ask them to move her again. If someone has found her, she could be in danger. I think I talked her into it, but she sounded so despondent. She said if Neal dies, he’ll have his revenge.”

“What does that mean?”

“I have no idea.” Noelle closed her eyes again for a moment. “Curiosity is a besetting issue for our family. We’re like cats. But for once, I’m facing a puzzle and I’d rather not find the answer.”

Elizabeth pulled out her phone. “I understand you don’t want to worry the rest of your family about this right now, on top of everything else, but I think Peter should know. It could be pertinent to the case. Do you mind if I send him a text? He could meet us here, away from your parents.”

“Go ahead,” Noelle said.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter took his turn watching Neal, his head was swimming with the information Noelle had provided, on top of all the other questions surrounding the case. Who would want to kill Neal? Who had access to Flashback and supplied it to Highbury? Was the use of the drug for blackmail, for looking for Adler, and for trying to kill Neal all connected? Who knew Neal was in the hospital and also knew how to contact Neal’s mother even though she was in WITSEC? When Peter had questioned Noelle, she couldn’t say for certain if the person who would get revenge if Neal died was the person who had called Meredith, or Neal himself. Noelle admitted that her sister’s comment could be taken either way.

And beyond that, there was a set of questions about Adler’s safe. What was so important about those passports, that they had been commissioned nearly a year ahead of when they were needed? Why give Gil Goddard that bond to blackmail Neal into opening the safe, rather than simply sending Gil and Kate the combination? And what was Seamus Bickerton’s interest in the safe?

Peter wanted to run all of those questions by his team, including Neal. Neal was so much in the center of this that Peter suspected they would need his help to unravel everything. That in itself could be a murder motive: getting rid of the one person most likely to figure out what was going on.

Around 2am, Peter heard a change in the beeping from one of the monitors in Neal’s room. Moments later an RN popped in to check the reading. Then she looked at Neal, taking his pulse and laying a hand on his chest.

Before Peter could insist on an explanation, she said with a hint of a Jamaican accent, “He’s starting to breathe on his own.” She smiled, and in that moment she looked like an angel. “I need to call the doctor. He’ll want you out of the way while he makes a few adjustments here. If you want to go out to the waiting room to tell the rest of Mr. Caffrey’s family the good news, the doctor should be done in about ten minutes and I’ll pretend not to notice if everyone comes by to see our patient as long as they’re quiet.”

Ten minutes later Peter led the group back to Neal. George and El stopped at the desk to talk to the RN while everyone else squeezed into Neal’s room. He was still unconscious, but at least there were fewer devices attached to him now. Everyone was hugging and smiling.

George stepped into the entry of the room, taking in the information from the machines monitoring Neal. “He’s still fighting.”

Peter thought that sounded good, but George’s tone indicated otherwise. “Is that a problem?”

“He’s going to wear himself out. Now that he’s breathing normally, he needs to relax and get some rest. The sooner he regains consciousness the better, and being exhausted isn’t going to help when it comes time to wake up.”

Irene looked at her husband and said, “There’s an extra blanket on that shelf behind you.” Edmund handed the blanket to his wife, who draped it over Neal with the expertise of someone used to tucking children into bed. Almost immediately, the readings on one of the machines slowed and Peter held his breath.

The RN walked in, looked at the machine and at Neal. She adjusted the blanket so that it didn’t cover the IV leading to Neal’s hand. She smiled that beautiful smile again and said, “He seems to be resting comfortably now. I can give you a few more minutes, and then you need to clear out. He won’t wake for at least four hours, probably longer, so I’d recommend you all get some rest.” She slipped back out to check on another patient.

“How did you know what to do?” Henry asked his grandmother.

“I’ve always known what puts my grandchildren to sleep. For you it’s hearing calming music. For Angela it’s being rocked. Neal sleeps best when he’s warm.”

Peter’s eyes widened but he didn’t say anything.

Henry took a ragged breath. “In Chicago, the doctors said he needed to get more sleep before he’d be recovered enough to be released. He was too tired to stay awake, but too keyed up to rest. I had no idea what to do for him. Finally I called Mom in a panic.”

Noelle slipped an arm around her son’s waist. “I said hospitals tend to be cold, and you should ask them to give Neal another blanket.”

“It worked in the hospital, and I used it in the hotel later, to make sure he slept. I can’t believe I’d forgotten that.” A hint of a smile crossed Henry’s face. “That first night out of the hospital, I threw a couple of extra blankets over him in the hotel room. I went out for some food, and when I got back to the room the door slammed behind me. It startled him. He started fighting to get out of the blankets and rolled right off the bed. He lay there on the floor, completely covered in blankets, and I held my breath, not wanting to spook him again. He was so quiet I thought maybe he’d fallen back to sleep, but then he said my name. I said, ‘Yeah,’ and walked over. He said, ‘This isn’t a very good bed,’ and I said, ‘Yeah, well that’s because it’s the floor.’ And then he said, ‘Oh, ok,’ and untangled himself enough to get back into bed.”

Everyone chuckled, more from relief than from amusement, Peter suspected. George volunteered to stay with Neal, with everyone else planning to return after a few hours of rest to be there when the kid woke up.

In the waiting room, Noelle told her parents she had an extra bedroom in her hotel suite and invited them to stay with her. Peter thought he’d get away without facing any questions, but on the way outside Noelle lagged behind as her parents walked with Henry. “Something about keeping Neal warm struck a chord, didn’t it, Peter?”

He shrugged. “When Neal was sick in St. Louis, he muttered something about being cold when I got back to the hotel room one night. I found an extra blanket and once I put it over him he was out like a light.”

Elizabeth squeezed his arm. “That was sweet.”

Noelle smiled. “Yes, it was. But more than that, by your doing something nurturing that he associated with family, it helped cement the bond between you.”

Peter pondered Noelle’s words on the drive home. That day in St. Louis, Neal had jokingly referred to Peter as his stepfather. By the time they returned to New York, it had ceased to be a joke. Perhaps Noelle had identified the point when the joke turned real.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter and El got about four hours’ sleep when the beep of a text message woke them. Peter reached for his phone, read the message and said, “It’s from George Knightley. He says Neal’s about to wake up.”

“Let’s go,” said El, knowing Peter would want to be there, and they dressed in record time.

The Caffreys and Winslows arrived around the same time as the Burkes. Peter, Henry, Noelle and Irene went into Neal’s room. At the instance of the doctor, only four visitors would be allowed in his room, leaving El, Edmund, Graham and George clustered in the corridor beyond the room. But with the curtain left open, they were able to hear.

When Neal opened his eyes shortly before 8am, everyone had something to say to him. El could hear “He’s awake” and “Welcome back” and “How are you feeling?” and “Stay with us now.” The voices were all hushed, but it still seemed to overwhelm Neal, who flinched and screwed his eyes shut.

“Mr. Caffrey, please open your eyes again, just for a moment,” Dr. Emma Woodhouse insisted. When he opened them only a fraction of a second and whimpered, the doctor shooed everyone out of the room, insisting they were irritating her patient.

But Elizabeth watched a very tired George Knightley enter the room, place a hand over Neal’s eyes and say, “It won’t be as bright this time, I promise. One more try, Neal. We’ll give your eyes a chance to adjust.”

The doctor glared at George, but kept her voice calm as she encouraged Neal to answer a few questions and then looked at his eyes, presumably checking his pupils. He quickly fell asleep again. The doctor left the room and told the group to stop loitering in the corridor and to wait in the room that was designed for that purpose until they were told that they could return. They followed her instructions, but not before a grumpy George told her she should work on her bedside manner.

El was glad to see that George went back home to catch up on his sleep. Peter started what promised to be a long call with his team about the latest developments in the Highbury case. Henry seemed to be doing some male bonding with both of his grandfathers. And Noelle and Irene were headed down the east corridor.

Now that Neal seemed to be firmly on the road to recovery, Elizabeth supposed she should go to work. She certainly shouldn’t spy on his family. But she had as much curiosity as any Caffrey, and it wouldn’t hurt to grab a muffin before going to the gallery. And the cafeteria happened to be down the east corridor.

Also down that corridor was a chapel, and that’s where El saw the women. They sat on a pew, and Irene held a sobbing Noelle, rocking her slightly while saying something in a comforting tone.

Deciding they deserved some privacy, Elizabeth continued on to the cafeteria where she purchased a muffin to go, and then she walked back toward the waiting room to say goodbye to her husband. Of course, that meant walking by the chapel again. The storm of tears seemed to be over. Noelle was wiping her eyes, as was Irene.

“Is everything alright?” Elizabeth asked, walking into the chapel. “I thought the doctor said Neal will be fine.”

“Exactly,” said Irene. “Now that he’s out of the woods, we can stop being strong and have a good cry.”

“I see,” said El, sitting beside Irene. There was something almost magical about the woman, as if she were followed by a ray of sunlight even in the most dismal circumstances. She had a classic, ageless beauty, with an air of mischief that made you like her instead of being jealous of her. “Oh, I’m sorry,” El said after a moment. “I don’t mean to stare, but you look so familiar.”

Irene beamed at her. “You watch old movies, don’t you? Classic musicals or comedies.”

“Yes, I love both.”

“Then you know me as the second dancer from the right,” Irene said.

“Excuse me?”

“I was a dancer. And an actress. In musicals I was usually the second dancer from the right. In comedies I was the madcap best friend or hapless kid sister who kicked off the screwball subplot.” She sighed. “I was typecast, I’m afraid.”

“She was typecast as herself,” Noelle added. “And she continues to play the role of madcap mother to this day. If Mom suggests any kind of scheme, you should run or be prepared for mayhem.”

“Fortunately my family appreciates mayhem,” Irene said.

“Even the ambassador?” El couldn’t help asking. Edmund Caffrey had seemed so serious and distinguished.

“Oh, yes. Diplomacy can be terribly boring when it’s conducted properly. Often it seems you spend all day with a bunch of stuffy old men, all set in their ways. I won’t let Edmund turn into one of them. And a little mayhem, directed appropriately, can be quite effective. Together we make a great team.”

“Like Peter and Neal,” Elizabeth said.

Noelle’s interest was caught. “How so?”

“My husband is an excellent FBI agent. But sometimes when we go to Bureau events and meet the people in the leadership roles he aspires to, it seems like he’s destined to turn into, um…”

“A stuffy old man?” Irene suggested.

“I don’t think he’d be that bad. But all the same, I’m glad he recruited Neal. Both of your grandsons seem to shake things up, and that makes Peter see things differently. I think he’ll be a better leader as a result, and less, well, stuffy.”

Noelle nodded solemnly. “I think it’s safe to say Henry and Neal both take after their grandmother, sometimes to our despair.”

Irene’s smile radiated mischief. “I can’t wait to spend some quality time with Neal and learn how much we have in common. Let’s see if he’s awake.”

“Heaven help us,” said Noelle as she stood up. But she smiled, too.

In the waiting room Edmund Caffrey, who yesterday had spoken with no hint of an accent, was instructing Henry on the finer points of an Irish accent. It would seem they had practiced this before, because Henry was already very good. And El had to admit the accent made them both nearly irresistible. She almost giggled when the previously staid ambassador flirted outrageously with her.

That’s when the realization hit her. An ambassador talks diplomats into doing what he wants. An actress convinces audiences to believe what she wants. A psychologist convinces patients to try what she wants. _They’re a family of con artists._ Neal was going to fit in perfectly.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Dr. Woodhouse, who had earlier banished everyone from Neal’s room, joined them in the waiting room for a chat. She explained that she specialized in toxicology, including poisonings and drug overdoses. Because of the combined physical and psychological implications of the drug Neal had been given, she wanted to keep him in ICU for the rest of the day, keeping an eye on him. She strongly advised that his visitors avoid exciting him.

Elizabeth left for work. As much as he wanted to stay, Peter knew he was needed at the Federal Building if he wanted to uncover who was behind the plot to kill Neal. And to do that he needed help from Henry and Graham. Therefore he suggested that the three of them check on Neal one more time, and then turn the kid’s care over to Irene, Edmund and Noelle for the next few hours.

The good news was that Neal was awake. But he wasn’t particularly lucid. “I don’t like it here,” he’d said when Peter entered his room.

“Not many people like being in hospitals,” Peter replied.

“No, that’s later,” Neal said.

Peter shrugged. That didn’t make any sense to him. Henry asked, “Why don’t you like it here?”

“It’s dark,” Neal complained, even though the space was flooded with light.

In an intense aside to Graham, Henry said, “Get Mom. Hurry.” Then in much more casual tones he asked, “Where are you, Neal?”

“Trunk of a car. Vance’s car, I think. I don’t like it here,” he repeated.

“How old were you when you were in Vance’s car?” Henry asked.

Neal thought a moment and then said, “Nine.”

“Right. You were a little kid. But you’re grown up now. And you were alone in Vance’s trunk, but you aren’t alone now. I’m here with you.”

“I’m not in the trunk?”

“Not anymore,” Henry said. “You’re in a hospital. And we’re going to take care of you.”

Impressed as he was with Henry’s calm handling of the situation, Peter still breathed a sigh of relief when Noelle entered the room. Everything about her was professional. Even her perfume was classic. Peter had investigated a case of knock-off perfumes a year ago, and he recognized expensive scents now.

Henry also appeared to relax slightly. “He’s flashing back to the abduction,” he said in a low voice.

Noelle nodded. “Neal, do you know –” she started, but Neal reacted strongly to her voice.

“No!” Neal protested. “She’s going to kill me!”

Peter had heard and said that phrase many times growing up: _If Mom finds out, she’s going to kill me._ But it wasn’t hyperbole now. Neal really sounded in fear for his life.

“She’s here! I heard her voice. Her perfume… She’s going to kill me…” The vehemence only decreased because he was tiring himself out.

“Get out!” Henry said to his mother. She looked shocked, but left the room.

“She’s going to kill me,” Neal repeated, sounding exhausted.

“It’s ok, Neal,” Henry promised. “I won’t let her near you. You’re safe.” When Neal fell into a restless sleep, Henry stepped outside the room. His mother still stood beyond the curtain.

“He thought I was Meredith,” Noelle said.

“This is why I couldn’t send him home when he got out of the hospital in Chicago,” Henry said. “Because sometimes, when a female nurse or doctor reminded him of his mother, he went into a panic. Until today, I’d never seen him have that reaction again, and he always refused to talk about why it happened. But he was convinced she wanted him dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for the reviews and questions. I’m getting caught up on the responses. Next week’s chapter will bring back Mozzie, will have Henry and Graham conning a suspect, and shares a little more about Henry and Neal seven years earlier.  
> Thanks to cornwankies from AO3 for confirming that Neal’s flashback at the end of this chapter isn’t too unrealistic. And of course thanks to Silbrith, whose edits and suggestions greatly strengthened these last two chapters.


	19. Switched

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a medical expert. My apologies if you are an expert; try to suspend your disbelief and go with the flow. Also, I rearranged the layout of Jacobi Hospital to fit the needs of this story.

**Jacobi Hospital. Friday morning. February 27, 2004.**

In a generic janitorial uniform, Mozzie passed unnoticed through the hospital halls. Inwardly he shuddered at the thought of the accumulated germs he was being exposed to, but he was determined to do this. He timed his entrance into the ICU during the morning shift change, when visitors were temporarily banished. But he faced a dilemma when he reached Neal’s room.

Neal was asleep, and not inclined to wake up. Shaking him only elicited a sleepy, “’nry?” When Mozzie didn’t answer Neal’s eyes partially opened and he repeated, “Henry?”

“No, it’s me,” said Mozzie. “Listen, do you –”

“Where’s Henry?” Neal interrupted. “Said he’d keep her away.”

Mozzie didn’t need to hear the beeping of the machine monitoring Neal’s heartbeat to tell that the young man was distressed. And if that beeping didn’t slow down, someone would be here soon to investigate. “He sent me to help.”

“Mmm,” replied Neal, conveying a great deal of doubt in a single syllable. “Where’d he go?”

“I’ll find him, ok? Just calm down.”

According to the beeping, Neal was partially satisfied with this answer. Mozzie departed, following the arrows to the waiting room. Clearly Neal wasn’t able to answer his questions. Hopefully Henry could fill in the blanks, because there wasn’t a lot of time.

The tricky part would be making the contact without making the suits suspicious. Mozzie snuck into a storage area to slip off his blue coveralls. In his street clothes he would blend more easily among the denizens of the waiting area.

Standing next to a potted plant, he spied Special Agent Peter Burke with several people Mozzie didn’t recognize. Probably more government lackeys. Then he heard a voice from behind him. “Mozz?”

He turned to see Neal. But that wasn’t possible. He had seen Neal in the ICU, barely able to keep his eyes open much less walk around. Now Mozzie saw Neal standing in a signature vintage suit, fedora in hand, blue eyes wide in surprise. There was only one explanation. His fears regarding Western, industrialized medicine had been proven correct. “Neal, they cloned you!”

Neal started to laugh. But it wasn’t Neal’s laugh. It sounded like Henry. And a closer look revealed Henry’s nose and broader shoulders, and shorter hair styled to look like Neal’s.

He considered the possibility that some of Henry’s DNA had been added to the clone, but reluctantly discarded that theory. “Contact lenses?” Mozzie asked.

Henry nodded. “I’m supposed to impersonate Neal when they question Churchill. Peter thinks it will rattle the guy enough to reveal more information. I just put in the contacts and was on my way back to see if I pass inspection. Neal’s doing better but he’s still in ICU.”

“I saw him. Listen, we don’t have much time. Take this.” Mozzie handed Henry an Atlantic bond. “In the confusion after the Feds swarmed the place yesterday, I grabbed Neal’s things from the laundry. This was in his jacket pocket.”

“The bond Kate gave him.” Henry slipped the bond into his jacket.

“I checked it under polarized light to see if it was an original, or one of Neal’s forgeries. I saw where Neal had signed it, but I saw something else. It was a code. Or from the looks of it, an encryption key.”

“Do you think it was a message from Kate?” Henry asked.

“No, Kate loves the classics. Encryption is more Adler’s style.”

“Why –” Henry started, but Mozzie didn’t have time to hang around and chat.

“The Suit’s coming this way. You have to decide if Neal would want to keep the bond, give it to Kate, or hand it over to his government overlords.” Mozzie scurried away, disappearing behind the door to the ICU before he could be intercepted by the Feds.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry left Jacobi with mixed feelings. He wanted to help the FBI prove that Frank Churchill had tried to murder Neal, but at the same time he hated to leave him. Even though Henry knew his mother and grandparents would look after Neal, guarding him with their lives if need be, but it wasn’t the same. He’d felt responsible for Neal for years, and it was hard to trust anyone else to do the job right.

This was his third visit to the Federal Building, and he knew his way around. He sauntered into the White Collar division behind Peter and casually slid into the chair of Neal’s desk. Agents paused what they were doing, and silence fell over the bullpen. Tricia Wiese walked up to ask, “Can you pull it off without the hat?”

Henry took off the fedora, giving it a flip that landed it on the middle of the desk. He grinned and put his feet up, and Peter automatically shoved them off the desk. “C’mon, Peter,” he protested. “Cut me a little slack here.”

Tricia nodded. “You’ve got the mannerisms and voice down, and even the interaction with Peter. Any weaknesses we should be aware of?”

Thinking back to his encounter with Mozzie, Henry admitted, “I don’t have Neal’s laugh down. I’ll get close if I have a chance to think about it, but if I’m surprised into a laugh I’ll sound like me. But it’s not like they were joking around in Churchill’s office, and I doubt you have comedy in mind today.”

“Right,” Tricia said. “Not likely to be an issue. We have Churchill in an interrogation room upstairs. He’s certain Neal is dead or at death’s door. As far as he’s concerned he succeeded in killing Neal and in making it look like an accident. He knows we have him recorded and that we can bring charges of illegal possession of a controlled substance, but he also knows he didn’t explicitly say that he knew there was anything different about the drug in the blue box. What I’m counting on is that Churchill had a partner who supplied the drug, and whoever his partner is, it’s someone Churchill is afraid of. He’s willing to face the charges for having and using Flashback on Highbury clients rather than name his partner. If he sees Neal alive and well, he’ll know his partner will be unhappy, and this is a partner who’s willing to kill people. I think in that scenario Churchill may turn on his partner if we promise protection.”

“He knows Nick Halden is really Neal Caffrey, so we won’t bother with any subterfuge along those lines,” Peter added. “We’ll call you _Neal_ and treat you like a member of the team. If we do this right, it will only take a few minutes.”

“Mr. Winslow,” Tricia said to Graham, “It’s possible Churchill saw you at Enscombe yesterday, but is there any chance that he heard your voice?”

Graham shook his head. “I didn’t say a word inside the estate. I have to admit, keeping up with Henry while he rushed through the building may have stolen my breath for a while there.”

“I want to have someone acting the role of a therapist. We can make sure Churchill hears your voice but doesn’t see you. I assume given your experience employing psychologists at Win-Win, you can play one yourself?”

“I’ve been doing undercover work since before you were born, young lady,” Graham answered. “I could do this in my sleep.”

“Good to know,” Tricia said. “To keep this simple, we’re going to call you Dr. Graham. We need to get you in place. Follow me.”

After a quick overview of what Tricia wanted Churchill to see and overhear, her plan was put into motion. They had been giving Churchill plenty of coffee and water, and as soon as she returned to his room he demanded a restroom break. She called an agent to escort their suspect to the men’s room. On the way, they made sure Churchill passed by the hallway that led to the conference room where they had ensconced Graham. Peter and Henry stood in the hall just outside that room, and their voices could be heard before Churchill could see them.

“Neal, I don’t care what kind of super drug they gave you at the hospital to counteract that shot of Flashback. The fact is, you don’t remember much of what happened yesterday, and your testimony could be crucial. Just talk to Dr. Graham. He’s an expert at this kind of thing.”

“Do I have to do this now? They said those memories may come back on their own in a few days. Why don’t we give it a little time?”

Churchill walked past the hall, able to see both men, but they pretended to be too absorbed in their argument to notice him. Once the suspect was out of sight they signaled Graham to come to the door of the conference room where he said, “There’s also a chance those memories will be irretrievably lost if we wait. I’m a good therapist, Neal. Let me do my job.”

“Fine,” said Henry, channeling an exasperated and sarcastic Neal. “Let’s get this over with.”

Tricia popped around the corner. “Perfect. He’s out of earshot now. Give him a few minutes to worry, and then we move on to the next stage.”

When Churchill was back in the interrogation room, they brought Henry and Graham to the mirrored wall. They could see into the room, but Churchill couldn’t see them. Tricia was in the room with Churchill. She instructed him to state his name again for the record, and to look at the mirror. Then she turned on an audio channel, and asked, “Anything?”

“I’m sorry,” came Neal’s voice. “I just don’t remember.”

“Take a deep breath,” said Graham. “You’re tensing up. If this is going to work you need to relax. Try…   Neal, wait!”

Henry walked around the room to open the door and poke his head inside. “Couldn’t I talk to him face to face? The whole mirror thing is a distraction.”

Tricia rose and pushed him outside. She left the door ajar so that Churchill could see a glimpse of Henry’s face. “You don’t just barge into an interrogation room, Neal. And no, you aren’t talking to him. Only agents are allowed in interrogations. Get out of here.”

“But I just want…” Henry stared into the room, meeting Churchill’s eyes. “Was he wearing a blue suit yesterday, with a striped tie?” He blinked and pinched the bridge of his nose, to give the impression that he was fighting a headache. “I think it’s coming back to me.”

“Dr. Graham!” Tricia called out.

“This way, Neal,” came Graham’s voice, and Henry walked out of view of the interrogation room.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Shortly after Tricia wrapped up her conversation with Churchill, she joined Hughes, Peter, Henry and Graham in a conference room to discuss the case. Peter was glad that Henry had removed the blue contacts and stopped impersonating Neal. Seeing Henry as Neal had been almost as disconcerting as seeing Neal disappear into the role of Henry. Jones was conferenced in from the Bureau offices in Boston.

“Bickerton didn’t show at the meet,” Jones told them, “and no sign of him at his residence. The assumption is that he learned Neal was hospitalized. He may think the contents of the safe are at the hospital with him, in which case he might be on his way to New York to try to grab those passports. Or he could be laying low for a while.”

“Can you get a search warrant for his home?” Hughes asked.

“Working on it. I think it’ll come through this afternoon. Problem is, he probably took anything incriminating with him. I think we’re more likely to learn something from the warrant for his phone records. Chances are good that someone called or texted him with a warning. If we can find out who tipped him off, we’ll start to see how he fits into the puzzle.”

“Thanks, Jones,” said Peter. “Sounds like the local guys can handle that. Let’s get you back to New York. Tricia, I saw from your report that Kate Moreau got away?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry, Peter. I should have stayed to guard the master suite. It looks like she picked the lock on the handcuffs. But the worst part is that someone stole what Neal got out of the safe. My best guess is that Kate followed me back to the B&B, saw me put the evidence in the trunk of my car, and then popped it after I left. I take full responsibility.”

“As evidenced by your working night and day ever since,” said Peter. “It’s unfortunate, but don’t beat yourself up.”

“Why passports?” asked Hughes, echoing a question that had been on Peter’s mind. “I realize quality passports can be expensive, but it seems Adler had ways of getting funds to Moreau. Why not commission passports when they needed them? And you said it was two passports per person?”

Tricia nodded. “I looked them over before I left them in my car. If the intent is for people to join Adler in his hiding spot, then it could be he wants them to use one set of passports to get out of the country, and the second set to further obscure their trail on their way to meet him. But I believe it’s more than that. These passports were designed to look a few years old, with stamps to show they had been used.”

“Do you remember what countries the stamps were from? Could it be Adler’s way of telling them where he’s hiding?” Peter asked.

“The locations seemed random, but those stamps stayed in the back of my mind. It felt like there was a pattern. I think if someone were to write down information from all of them, they would form a code. What I’ve been thinking is that Adler has been extremely careful not to let us find out where he is. I don’t see him sending that information to someone in an email, or sharing it in a phone call. In his place, I might encode the location, and then lead my partners to the code after they proved they were trustworthy.” She looked around the table. “And here’s where things get even more interesting. There were six passports. Two each for Moreau and Goddard, and the last two for Neal.”

“Not for Bickerton?” Jones asked, still on the phone.

“That’s right,” Tricia confirmed. “I have to assume the cash he got last year is considered his entire reward. But somehow he knew about the safe. What he has in mind for the contents is anyone’s guess.”

“Why were there passports for Neal?” Henry asked. “He wasn’t in on the scheme like Kate and Gil Goddard were.”

“Are you sure about that?” asked Hughes.

“Well of course I’m sure,” said Henry. “He would have told me, and he wouldn’t have gone to work for the FBI.”

“I don’t know,” Graham said. “Inside the FBI would be the best place to find out what’s known about Adler and to obscure any new evidence that comes to light.”

“Pops!” protested Henry. He seemed unable to think of the appropriate words for his grandfather. He shook his head and turned to Peter. “Tell me you aren’t considering Neal a suspect. He put his life on the line to help you on this case.”

Before Peter could reply, Graham said, “It’s his job to consider every possibility. Even the ones he doesn’t like. Let him be and learn from him. You’ll need to think like this someday when you’re running Win-Win.”

Henry gave his grandfather a look of disdain. Before the young man could say something he might regret, Peter said, “Let’s look at this from Adler’s perspective. What makes Kate, Gil and Neal valuable to him?”

“I have some thoughts on that front,” Tricia said. “You asked me to research Kate. I learned her parents filed for divorce when she was 13. There was a bitter battle, with allegations on each side that were so serious the courts put her into foster care for a few months rather than grant either parent temporary custody. At 14 she ran away. There may have been an abusive situation in the foster home; hard to say, but reading between the lines I think that’s what Child Protective Services suspected. About a month later seems to be when she met Adler. She’d made her way to a coastal town. Not a tourist spot, but more of an industrial and military area. Among other things, submarines are designed and manufactured there.”

“Wilhelm Adler worked for a submarine manufacturer,” Peter remembered.

“Right. From what I can tell, Kate was pretending to be 16, working as a waitress in a bar. One weekend Vincent Adler stopped by for a drink after visiting his father. As he was leaving he saw some patrons hassling an underage waitress in the parking lot. He offered her a ride, and she left with him. One of those frustrated patrons called the cops with Adler’s license plate, saying Adler had abducted a girl. It didn’t take long for the cops to sort out what had actually happened, and they sent Kate home to her father, who’d won custody.”

“That explains why Kate feels she owes Adler,” Peter said. “How did they connect again?”

“Based on everything we’ve heard, I’d guess she developed a serious crush on Adler and that she was the one who found a way to keep in touch,” Tricia said. “Then in 2000, when Kate was in college, her father got into some trouble at work. He was a senior accountant at a medium-sized company in New Jersey, and he discovered irregularities in their books. He became a whistle-blower, and it essentially ruined his life. He lost his job and it took the better part of a year for investigators to prove that he’d been right. He poured most of his savings into a lawsuit to clear his name when the company claimed he’d been in on the scheme. He couldn’t find another job, and in 2001 Robert Moreau died of what appeared to be a massive heart attack, although there were rumors of suicide. Supposedly he’s buried in a family plot here in New York.”

“Supposedly?” Graham said. “What do you think really happened?”

“Based on the photos on those passports and the photos in the news coverage about Moreau, I think he changed his name to Gilbert Goddard, possibly with Adler’s help. And I think that Adler, who was starting up an investment firm, wanted someone with knowledge of how financial fraud could be covered up in corporate books so that auditors and the IRS wouldn’t catch it. Moreau as Goddard would have been desperate or disillusioned enough to go along with that. If I’m right, he and Kate both felt they owed Adler, and Adler trusted them enough to promise them a piece of the prize if they remained loyal.”

Henry crossed his arms and glared at Tricia and Peter. “I don’t hear any connection to Neal.”

“That’s where Jones comes in,” Tricia said. “Take it away.”

From the speaker phone Jones said, “I looked into the shell corporation Adler is suspected of owning. One of the holdings was Wilhelm Salvage. We believe they’re looking for a U-boat sunken off the east coast of the U.S. Wilhelm Adler may have served on that boat, or had some knowledge about it he shared with his son. If Vincent Adler’s interested in it, it must be valuable. Rumor has it the Nazis shipped gold and art and other assets out of Germany in U-boats at the end of the war. If a boat had to be abandoned off our coast, the crew would have tried to secure it somehow, possibly with explosives. That means a brute-force approach to entry could blow the works. If Wilhelm Salvage succeeds in finding the boat, Adler still needs someone who can break in with enough finesse to avoid setting off an explosion.”

Tricia cocked her head and met Henry’s eyes. “He’d need someone skilled at breaking in, someone creative and foolhardy enough to try it.”

Henry narrowed his eyes. “Neal isn’t the only person who meets that description.”

“But he is the one Adler would find easiest to control,” Tricia said. She softened her tone and added, “He knew Neal had fallen for Kate. We all know that people will do some boneheaded things when they think they’re in love. My take on this is that Adler is testing Kate right now. If I’m right, her main value to Adler is being able to deliver Neal. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has to convince Adler that Neal is onboard with the plan before she gets the key to the code in those passports.”

“Kate told Neal that he’s the key,” Peter remembered.

“Right. Getting him to open the safe was simply the first test. It proved that he had the skills, and that Kate could talk him into doing something like that.” Tricia shrugged. “But if my theory is correct, that doesn’t explain the attempt to kill Neal. Someone else would have to be behind that, someone who may or may not be aware of what’s going on with Adler right now.”

“Any theories on who that might be?” asked Graham.

Peter and Tricia exchanged an uncomfortable look. “You’re the boss,” Tricia told him. “It’s up to you how much you think we should tell them.”

Henry leapt to his feet with enough force that his chair almost toppled. “If you think you know who tried to kill my brother, you’re damn well going to tell me!”

Peter refrained from reminding Henry that Neal wasn’t his brother. “I’m aware that you’re operating on about four hours of sleep right now, so I’m not going to kick you out of the briefing. But remember I’m as tired as you, and I’m not as patient as I would normally be. If you can control yourself, we’ll get this wrapped up quickly and go back to the hospital to check on Neal. If not, you need to get out of here, and Graham can bring you up to speed after you calm down.”

Henry sat down, but couldn’t disguise the trembling in his hands. He saw Peter’s sympathetic glance and hid his hands under the table. The poor kid was approaching the limit of what he could take, and Peter could identify with the feeling. Peter wished he’d used the excuse of Henry’s outburst to exclude him from this portion of the briefing. He sighed and turned his attention to Graham. “Mr. Winslow, I’d like to remind you that you’re officially consulting with the FBI on this case, and no longer employed by Winston-Winslow.”

Graham’s eyes widened. “Full disclosure: I am still a member of the Win-Win board. But I’ll be as objective as I can.”

Reese Hughes stood up, much more calmly and deliberately than Henry had a moment ago. “As you reminded us Peter, you’re somewhat impaired by sleep deprivation. If you don’t mind my intruding on your case, I’ll take this.”

“Be my guest,” said Peter, not hiding the gratitude in his voice.

Hughes moved to stand directly opposite Graham. “As Agent Wiese expected, Frank Churchill was willing to talk after he thought he saw Neal. He told us that his supplier of Flashback provided the drug so that it could be used to gather intel from people who had a connection with Vincent Adler. The source’s goal is to find Adler. Churchill didn’t know or care why. Using the drug for blackmail was something Churchill and Dixon started after they came to understand what the drug could do. Their supplier was aware of the blackmail, as it meant Highbury went through more of the drug. He didn’t ask for a cut of the blackmail. The only time he asked for anything other than information about Adler was when he sent the concentrated version of the drug and told them to use it on Neal. Churchill hasn’t met the supplier in person, and doesn’t know his name, but said he’d recognize his voice. The supplier goes by the pseudonym of Mr. Hyde and works at Win-Win.”

Henry took in a sharp breath, and Graham looked pained. “Do you believe him?” Graham asked.

Hughes nodded. “He showed us his cell phone call log. He was getting calls during business hours from a landline number registered to Win-Win. We called it, and it went to voicemail with a message that it was a conference room.”

Graham closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he stood, facing Hughes across the table. “I’ll guarantee full cooperation from Win-Win on this. If you’ll give me a moment to make a call, I’ll get someone working on finding out who might have gotten access to Flashback.”

“Not Dad,” said Henry softly. “He hates the FBI and Neal. He’ll obstruct the investigation if he can.”

Graham put a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “I’ll go to Allen Winston on this. As CEO he has access to all files, and he was a great investigator in his day. He’ll be as disturbed by this as I am. He’ll make sure we get answers and that we clean house.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It was a silent drive back to Jacobi Hospital. Peter, Graham and Henry were all lost in their own thoughts. The bond Mozzie had given him was still in Henry’s jacket. This morning he’d been certain Neal would want to give it to Peter. Right now he wasn’t certain of anything, and he’d told no one about the encryption key Mozzie had mentioned.

If the FBI was right about Neal being the “key” for finding Adler, it was a diabolic plan on Adler’s part. He sent the document with the key to Goddard to give Neal in exchange for opening the safe. And now Kate and Goddard would be learning that the very document they had given away held the information they needed to decode the message hidden in the passports. They would be looking for Neal to convince him to give them back the bond, or to steal it from him.

Assuming Kate made her getaway as soon as she stole the passports, it’s possible she didn’t know Neal was in the hospital. She would probably be hanging out around the mansion on Riverside Drive. The house was deserted now. June Ellington had gone to stay with her eldest daughter for the next couple of weeks. It would be easy to convince everyone that Neal shouldn’t be left alone there when he was released from Jacobi. Graham’s hotel suite had plenty of extra space, and from there Henry could control access to Neal while he recovered.

Tired and distracted, Henry forgot to put up a façade before running into his mother in the ICU waiting room. He gave her a carefree smile, but it was too late. She placed her hands on his shoulders to hold him still while she studied him, and then asked, “What happened?”

“I don’t think I’m right person to lead Win-Win. Did you change clothes?”

“Yes, I took a shower and changed clothes to make sure no trace of my perfume remained. It seems to have done the trick. Neal is still sleeping a lot and not always sure what decade he’s in, but he hasn’t been panicked by my presence again or mistaken me for his mother.” She released Henry’s shoulders, slipping a hand around one of his arms to walk into the ICU with him. “We’ll talk about your future at Win-Win when we’re back in Baltimore. Don’t make any rash decisions.”

Irene and Edmund Caffrey were in Neal’s room, playing cards while he slept. Irene smiled when she saw Henry. “Come here, you scoundrel.” She stood to hug Henry. “Half the time Neal thinks Edmund is you, but when he can stay awake he’s a fantastic poker player and he says you taught him.” She released Henry and said to Edmund, “Come on, darling. I’ll admit I’m not as young as I used to be. Now that Henry’s here to keep watch, I’m in desperate need of a nap.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Noelle said, and then she followed her parents out.

Peter and Graham had stopped for coffee, and arrived at the room as Noelle was leaving. She asked Graham to walk with her. Henry regretted mentioning Win-Win to his mother when she had asked what was wrong. Now she was going to try to get more information out of Graham, leaving Henry alone with Peter. Henry really didn’t want to talk to Peter right now. He sat in one of the chairs in the room, propped his elbows on Neal’s bed, and rested his head in his hands. Physically and emotionally exhausted, he closed his eyes for a moment… and woke to hear Neal saying, “You can’t make me stay here. I can check myself out any time I want.”

The words and petulant tone snapped Henry back to Chicago in the late 1990s, and he automatically repeated what he’d said on that occasion, “Good luck with that, kiddo. Everyone here knows you’re a minor.”

“That’s a lie! I turned 18 almost a week ago. March 7th.”

“No. Danny Brooks’ birthday was March 7. But he’s not real. Neal Bennett was born on March 21st. You’re still 17. I can show you the birth certificate to prove it.”

“How old are you?” Neal asked.

“Twenty. Face it: I’m an adult, and you’re still a kid. You have to do what I say.”

“You’re really my cousin?”

“Yeah. When you can stay awake for more than ten minutes I’ll show you the proof.”

“I was just pretending to sleep.”

Henry chuckled. “Good one. Now remember: the people here think I’m your brother and that I’m 21. You have to keep going along with that or they’ll insist on talking to your parents.”

Neal started breathing faster. “They can’t. They’ll try to send me home and I won’t let them. I’m not going back. My mom’ll be glad I’m gone, anyway.”

“Trust me, I’m not sending you back home.”

Neal seemed to calm slightly but said, “I don’t trust anyone. Not anymore.”

“We’ll work on that,” Henry said with false assurance. He didn’t know how he was going to get this kid to trust him, but he had to find a way. Neal wasn’t going to be in any shape to make it on his own when the hospital released him. With a yawn, Henry focused and realized they weren’t in Chicago. He didn’t have to put on a cocky act to convince Neal he was in control. “What an idiot,” he mumbled.

“You or him?” Peter asked.

“Both of us,” Henry said, stretching. “We always had a lot in common.”

“I want out of here,” Neal said in a voice that verged on desperate.

Henry continued the conversation he remembered from seven years ago. He’d felt desperate, too, but had refused to show it. “I’m working on that. It will help if you do what the doctors want. I think I can get you out of here tomorrow. But you’ll have to do what I say for the next week, ok? For the next week you’re still a kid and I’m the boss. After that you really turn 18 and you can do whatever you want. That’s the deal.”

“That deal sucks,” Neal complained.

“It’s the best deal you’re going to get,” Henry said. He saw the same obstinate expression Neal had worn in Chicago. “Don’t bother trying to run away. You won’t get far in your condition. I’ll catch you and bring you back here again.”

Neal scowled a moment, and suddenly he grinned. “I can’t believe you took me to the morgue when I refused to see a doctor.”

“Life’s full of surprises with me,” Henry promised.

“Can’t believe I fell for that,” Neal said, apparently back in the present day. “You were a pretty good con artist yourself.”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Henry said with a shrug. “I hadn’t finished my psychology degree yet, but I’d learned enough to recognize that on one level you were trying to rebel and take charge of your life, but deep down you were scared. Part of you wanted someone to lean on, and for the sake of your pride you had tell yourself it was temporary. Realizing you were still a week away from turning 18 gave you an excuse to turn over control to an adult for a few days while you decided what to do next. And it gave me a week to convince you that hanging out with me would be a grand adventure, much more fun than striking out on your own. I actually convinced you I was doing you a favor by letting you stick with me.”

“Slowed you down,” Neal said.

“No, Neal. Thanks to you, I finally grew up.”

Already Neal was drifting back to sleep. Peter said, “It must have been terrifying. You were a 20-year-old kid yourself, trying to manage a teenaged Neal. I don’t know how you did it.”

“Me neither,” Henry admitted with a yawn. “I told him I had everything under control, but mostly I was making it up as I went along.” And then he folded his arms on Neal’s bed, resting his head on them. He needed to get some sleep before he could decide what to do with that Atlantic bond. He thought he felt someone draping a blanket over his shoulders, but he was asleep before he could determine who it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In next week’s chapter, titled “Loopy,” Neal is more awake but out of it. The major flashbacks to his abduction will happen around chapter 23.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading. Writing this story is a joy, and I’m so glad you’re along with me for the ride. And always thanks to extraordinary beta reader Silbrith for her edits and insights.


	20. Loopy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a medical expert. My apologies if you are an expert; try to suspend your disbelief and go with the flow. Also, I rearranged the layout of Jacobi Hospital to fit the needs of this story.
> 
> There have been some questions about whether Peter still feels like a father to Neal in this story. It’s hard to provide specific reassurances without including spoilers. Peter’s a little out of his depth right now, but these experiences in the hospital are affecting him in ways he doesn’t recognize yet. I did add a conversation between El and Peter in this chapter to provide a glimpse into Peter’s current mindset. Please trust me. Peter and Neal as father and son are a favorite theme for me as a reader and writer, and you’ll see it emerge again in this story if you’re patient.

**Jacobi Hospital. Friday afternoon. February 27, 2004.**

Neal woke again. At least he thought he was awake. It felt like he’d woken many times, only to realize he must be dreaming. Often he was back in Chicago again, forming a tentative alliance with Henry. Sometimes he was with an older couple who seemed vaguely familiar, playing poker of all things. The woman he thought of as _not-Mom_ was there sometimes. A few times he was with Vance again, but those episodes didn’t last long; people came and pulled him back from those memories. There seemed to be a doctor, too. And once even…

“Was Mozzie here?” he asked. But as soon as he said it he realized that must have been another dream. Mozzie didn’t like to go places where doctors were. He didn’t trust them.

Neal was about to drift off again when he realized someone was saying his name. He opened his eyes and stared fuzzily at the man standing beside him. “There you are,” said the man. “Neal, do you know who I am?”

Many things ran through his mind, confusing him. It was Peter, but he had many different roles and Neal wasn’t sure which one he was being now. Special Agent. Burke the Jerk. Friend. Pursuer. Boss. Suit. El’s husband. Immunity. He held on to the one thing that seemed simplest and truest. “Dad?”

There was a pause, and Peter said, “Kid, you’re killing me.”

And with that Neal went from hoping he was awake to hoping he wasn’t. He moaned and closed his eyes, hoping to escape to a different dream.

A woman’s voice said, “He’s probably thinking very literally right now.”

“What? Oh! Neal, no, I’m fine. You aren’t hurting anyone. Open your eyes again, please. C’mon, Neal. A couple of minutes, ok? Stop malingering.”

It was so tempting to slip into another dream, but Neal decided to give this one a second chance. He opened his eyes again. There was Peter, and not-Mom. _Noelle_ , Neal remembered. Her name was Noelle and she sounded like Mom but she wasn’t. Not his mom. Henry’s mom.

“You slept through lunch,” said not-Mom. “Do you think you could eat something?”

Neal considered that. He shook his head.

“Would you try some juice?” she persisted. “They’re going to put you on another IV if you don’t.”

He flexed his left hand automatically, and it hurt. He didn’t want another IV. “’k.” He drank the juice slowly, and gradually became more aware of his surroundings. Hospital again. Several of his dreams had been set in a hospital, and he was starting to think he really was in a hospital. Maybe he was awake this time. But then he noticed Henry, sitting in a chair, his head resting on his arms on Neal’s bed, asleep. That was weird. Probably a dream.

Just in case, he tugged at one of the pillows behind him until it came loose and then pushed it at Henry, who latched onto it, settling his head into the pillow with a snuffling sound.

Noelle reached across the bed to ruffle Henry’s hair as if he were a little kid. And when Neal blinked at her, she ruffled his hair, too, and then swooped in to kiss his nose. “I’m scared to think what the two of you got up to after Henry found you, but I’m also sorry I missed it.”

Neal wasn’t sure what to make of that, so he looked at Henry again. “Malingering,” said Neal. He didn’t remember where the word had come from. It seemed to be hovering in the air around him, and he liked it. He looked up at Peter with a smile. “You missed the poker game.”

“Who were you playing with?” Peter asked.

Neal was still vague about who they were and if they had been real. He didn’t seem to have names for them. One phrase floated to mind. “Badass?”

Noelle laughed so hard that Neal couldn’t help laughing with her, even if he didn’t know what the joke had been.

Peter asked, “What?”

Even Henry raised his head. “Huh?”

Her voice full of mirth, Noelle said, “When Dad got his first ambassadorial post, the State Department sent someone to give the whole family lessons on diplomatic etiquette. She advised that we call Dad _Ambassador_ even at home, to make sure we didn’t slip up in public. Henry was old enough to get close, but Neal… Every time he tried, it sounded more like _badass._ We could never prove it, but I’m certain my brother David was encouraging him to keep saying it that way. It became a family catch phrase whenever Dad had a success as an Ambassador.”

Neal chuckled. Not because he followed everything Noelle had said, but because it triggered a memory. When he was seven years old, he brought home a report card with perfect grades, and for once his mother had been sober. She picked him up and called him a badass, which made him giggle because it sounded naughty, and then she tickled him to make him keep giggling until they both lay on the floor catching their breath. After that she’d gone into the kitchen and started singing in French as she prepared the best meal they’d had in months. To this day, French cuisine was one of his favorites. He closed his eyes and started softly singing “Au Clair de la Lune.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As Neal sang, Peter walked around to the side of the room where Henry sat. “Feeling better?”

Henry shrugged rather than answer. He still looked bleary-eyed with a childlike belligerence. Not fully awake yet, but that would change soon.

“I know you’re not happy about some of the things you heard at the Bureau today. You don’t believe Neal was part of Adler’s scheme. That’s fine. I don’t want to believe it either. My boss has enough trust in my judgment that he’ll accept it if I say Neal is innocent, but in the long run that’s not enough. The Adler case will get scrutiny from a bunch of people in the FBI who don’t know me and who will jump to the conclusion I’m protecting my team or myself if I simply say I know Neal is innocent and forgo any further investigation. The best way to protect Neal from suspicion is to prove he wasn’t involved. Understand?”

Henry’s eyes had cleared, and his expression transitioned from belligerent to annoyed. “What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“That’s a fine defense if Neal goes on trial. Wouldn’t you rather make sure things don’t reach that point?”

“How?”

“We start by asking Neal to tell us what he knows.”

Henry gestured toward Neal, who was starting the third verse of the song. “You can’t use anything he tells you now.”

Peter nodded. “You’re right. I’m counting on the eminent Dr. Winslow to confirm that Neal is officially impaired. Anything that he confesses now can’t be used against him.”

With a look of grudging respect, Henry said, “Ok. Let’s talk to him.” He stood up and smoothed his hair, which had become mussed while he slept. “Neal? Neal, take a break from the song, ok?”

Neal blinked and said in a surprised voice, “I think this song is about sex.”

“Yeah. I barely passed high school French and even I know that. We got suspicious when we learned there was a verse they didn’t teach us and we looked up how the song ended. How did you know the words and not pick up on the double entendres?”

Neal shrugged. “I learned it when I was in kindergarten, and I didn’t take French in high school. I wanted to study a language I didn’t already know, so I took Russian.”

“You are such a nerd sometimes. Listen, Peter needs to talk to you.”

“About sex?” Neal asked.

“About Adler,” Peter corrected.

Neal frowned. “Kate let me think she was having sex with Adler in the café. I mean, when we were talking at the café. They weren’t doing it in the café. Because they weren’t. Not at the café. And not at Enscombe, either. She said so. And she wasn’t his type. Adler didn’t date much, but mostly it was blondes. And Kate isn’t blonde. So there you go. Can I have another juice?”

“I’ll get one, sweetheart,” said Noelle. “Remember, Peter: literal thinking, and if you don’t want a very awkward conversation, you need to be precise about the topic.”

“Neal,” said Peter, “we’re done talking about sex.”

“Good. ‘cause I don’t think Kate would like it if I talked about how we –”

“We’re going to talk about the work you did for Adler last year.”

Neal’s eyes widened. “Henry!” he whispered urgently. “I think this dream is real. I mean, I think it isn’t a dream this time.”

Henry nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“Which Peter is this? Do we trust him?”

Peter held his breath while he awaited Henry’s judgment. Henry studied Peter a moment and sighed. “He’s the FBI agent who thinks of you as a son.”

Neal beamed. “Peter! Hi, buddy!”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The Q&A with loopy Neal wasn’t as helpful as Peter would have liked. It confirmed his belief that Neal wasn’t in on Adler’s original crimes and wasn’t aware of his current plans. However, as Henry cynically pointed out, they still didn’t have proof. There didn’t seem to be anything Neal could add in his current condition to help with the case.

They paused to let Neal drink the juice he had requested, and then Dr. Woodhouse stopped by. She said Neal was doing well enough to move from ICU to a standard hospital room, and that meant a break while everyone moved to a waiting area on another floor of the building. Eventually they were shown to Neal’s new room. Peter was glad to see it was a private room with several chairs for guests. It looked like visitors were encouraged.

It was clear Neal was tired. Peter expected him to drift back to sleep, but instead he said, “Why didn’t anyone make the connection?”

“What connection?” Peter asked.

“You didn’t connect me to Adler’s company because I used an alias you didn’t know, right? But Kate used her real name. You had the company employment and payroll records. You knew Kate Moreau worked for Adler. And before you caught up with me in St. Louis you knew I had a girlfriend named Kate Moreau. But no one in the Bureau realized it was the same Kate?” Neal paused to yawn.

Henry looked surprised. “The FBI didn’t know Neal had a connection to Adler?”

“Not until after we got Neal’s confession,” Peter said.

“How is that possible?” Noelle asked.

“It shouldn’t be,” Peter admitted. “The only way we could have missed it is if someone tampered with the records of the Adler case so that we didn’t get a hit when we logged Kate Moreau as a suspected accomplice of Neal’s. Neal, when you looked at the case files did you notice…” Peter trailed off when he realized Neal had fallen asleep. “Keep an eye on him. I’m going to call Hughes.”

In the waiting room, Peter was pulling out his phone when Graham arrived. He put his phone back in his pocket and asked, “Any news?”

“Not yet. Whoever supplied the drugs to Highbury did a good job of covering their tracks. It’s going to take a while to get answers.”

Disappointed but not surprised by Graham’s answer, Peter pointed him in the direction of Neal’s room and then placed the call to Hughes. After filling him in on the latest development, Peter said, “When Jones gets back to New York, I’d like to have him look at the log of updates to the Adler file. I hate to say it, but I’m starting to think Agent Hitchum might be a problem. At first I thought it was just sloppy work with the holes in the Gil Goddard interview, but if we find he’s behind the missing data in the Adler file, that points to sabotage.”

“If Jones confirms what you suspect, we’ll need to bring in the Office of Professional Responsibility,” Hughes said. “In fact, I should give them a call today. Nothing will go in Hitchum’s file yet, but if we find evidence we’ll want OPR to jump on this immediately, and that means giving them time to prepare.” When Peter didn’t respond, Hughes added, “I know OPR isn’t popular, but they specialize in this kind of thing. And this won’t reflect on you, Peter.”

“I know,” Peter said. “I heard it all at Quantico, but I hate having it happen to my team. That kind of thing is distracting, and we have so much going on right now. Can you wait until I talk to Jones tomorrow? Maybe I’m off base about this.”

“Questioning your famous gut?” Hughes asked. “And tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“Hell,” said Peter. “Tell you what, I’ll look into it myself tonight.”

“No, you won’t,” Hughes said. “You’re too tired to find what you’re looking for tonight. You get some sleep. I’ll check with Jones and see if he’s interested in working overtime tomorrow in exchange for comp time later.”

Shortly after 5pm, Elizabeth arrived with Chinese takeout and the Burkes and Winslows had a picnic in Neal’s room. Neal wasn’t allowed to share in the takeout, but at least he ate the vegetable soup and bread an RN named Martin had delivered. Martin seemed a bit surprised by the family meal in the hospital room, but he said it was fine as long as Neal remained comfortable with it.

At 6pm Martin asked them to clear out for a few minutes while he helped Neal walk to the restroom and change clothes. When they returned, Neal was wearing a t-shirt and sweat pants of Henry’s that he’d brought that morning. Peter had never heard of the group Linkin Park featured on the t-shirt, much less their album _Hybrid Theory_. Henry simply shrugged and said they had a song called “Runaway” that he liked.

George Knightley and Neal’s grandparents arrived as Neal was nodding off again. It was getting crowded in the room, and Peter and Elizabeth moved to the waiting room while the others caught the newcomers up on Neal’s status. “What’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked after a few minutes.

“I’m not sure where I fit,” Peter admitted. “It was one thing being Neal’s father figure when he was essentially alone in the world. Now in addition to Henry in a big-brother role, Neal has an aunt, grandparents, and even Graham is closer to family than I am. And there’s a godfather back in DC who wants to help, too. Am I just getting in the way? Maybe I should be satisfied as a boss and mentor trying to keep Neal on the right side of the law.”

“Don’t you think that’s a decision to make with Neal, when he’s back on his feet and not influenced by this Flashback drug?” El asked. “And remember, having all of these people here for him is temporary. Everyone you mentioned lives in DC or Baltimore. You’re the person Neal can rely on to be here for him day-to-day. Maybe...” she paused to think it over. “Maybe in a circumstance like this you step aside to let him have time with these people, but knowing that you’ll step back in again when they’re gone.”

Peter nodded, seeing his wife’s logic, and decided to share his other concern, “Right now it seems like the only thing I can do to help Neal is to work the case, finding and stopping who wants to kill him.”

“That sounds important, and it’s your comfort zone. So why don’t you sound comfortable?”

“Because part of what we uncovered today looks bad for Neal. He’s not in trouble, exactly, but now I have to find out who’s behind everything, and prove Neal isn’t in collusion with a criminal. Until I can, Neal loses credibility in the team.”

“After you both had worked so hard to make everyone accept him. And you’re blaming yourself, or your job. But the only way to fix it is to keep being Special Agent Peter Burke.”

“Have I mentioned recently how much I love smart women?” Peter asked, putting an arm around his wife.

Soon Neal’s other visitors joined them, at the request of the doctor who wanted some privacy to check on Neal and talk to him. A few minutes later Dr. Woodhouse came to the waiting area to speak with all of them. “He’s doing much better,” she said. “The main concern now is flashbacks or nightmares induced by the remainder of the drug in his system. The sedative from that drug is still affecting him, but only to the extent of making him tired. After the activity of this evening, he’s likely to sleep for several hours. I believe he’ll be able to go home tomorrow, but I would caution that he should have someone around to check on him regularly for at least the first 24 hours.”

“He’ll stay with me,” Henry said.

The doctor nodded. “I’ll meet with you tomorrow about his care and diet. For tonight I’ll be on call in case he experiences any issues.”

George Knightley asked to speak to the doctor privately and they stepped away from the others. Graham Winslow told Noelle and Henry they looked exhausted and that it was time they let him take them back to the hotel. Edmund and Irene agreed that the others should get some rest, saying that they’d stay with Neal, and they returned to his room.

Peter was curious to know what George and the doctor were saying and was leading El in that direction, but Henry asked, “Do you have a minute?”

“Excuse me, El,” Peter said, letting Henry pull him aside. “What is it?”

“Do you believe Neal’s innocent?”

“Of colluding with Adler? Yes. I never thought it was a likely scenario, but those passports Adler had commissioned for Neal are going to raise questions that I’ll need to answer.”

“In that song I mentioned earlier, there’s a line about being considered guilty by association. Keep that in mind. You’ll drive Neal away if your team uses him for his criminal contacts and then tries to paint him with the same brush for having those contacts.”

It took Peter’s mind back to his first conversation with Henry, a phone call when Neal was in a hospital on New Year’s Eve. Henry had made it clear on that occasion that he didn’t trust the FBI to treat Neal fairly. “I get it, Henry. You have to trust me on this. My team has made great strides in accepting Neal. But those passports represent a potential stumbling block in that acceptance, and ignoring the issue won’t make it go away. I’m doing everything I can to get answers, to remove that block, and then we’ll make up the lost ground and keep moving forward. The pace might not be as fast as you like, but we’re getting there.” Peter looked past Henry. “Graham’s not-so-patiently waiting for you. Go back to your hotel and sleep on it. I think you know we’re both on the same side.”

Peter then returned to Elizabeth. As they waited for the elevator she asked what Henry wanted.

“Same thing we do. He wants Neal to be safe and happy.”

They stepped into the elevator. “I eavesdropped on George and Emma,” El admitted. “Did you know they went to school together?”

Peter shook his head. George Knightley and Emma Woodhouse had been the least of his worries. “Did they say anything about Neal’s prognosis?”

“No, not really. They both sounded confident that he’s out of danger.”

The elevator reached their floor and they stepped into the parking garage. Where had he parked? It seemed like an age ago.  

“It was sweet, actually. George thanked her for taking a softer approach with Neal’s visitors this evening, and he apologized for snapping at her earlier, after Neal first woke up. Emma admitted she could have been more sympathetic. They’re going to grab coffee later to catch up. I think they make a cute couple.”

Peter found his car and opened the passenger door for Elizabeth. Then he got in the car, started the engine, and sat staring ahead a moment. He met El’s inquiring look and said, “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“Let’s get home and get some rest. I’m sure it’ll come back to you.”

At the house, they changed out of their work clothes into something more casual. After walking Satchmo, they settled on the sofa. Peter turned on the TV to watch a sports channel, and El was reviewing her notebook of plans for Neal’s birthday party. Every once in a while she asked Peter a question about Neal’s taste in food.

Around midnight, Peter woke up. El had changed the channel and was watching a movie that looked like one of those Jane Austen stories. Peter wasn’t a fan of watching those movies himself, but last month Neal had opened his eyes to their value. Those stories inspired some eye-opening fantasies in Elizabeth, and Peter grinned as he remembered the last time she’d pretended he was that Darcy character and “had her way with him.” Maybe he should go ahead and walk Satchmo one more time so they wouldn’t be interrupted when things got interesting.

El nudged him. “Peter, that’s your phone.”

He reached for the cell phone vibrating on the coffee table. The caller ID said _Henry Winslow_ and Peter could feel his blood pressure rise as he realized what he’d forgotten. “Did you tell your grandparents about the Hospital Game?” Peter asked, referring to the version of hide-and-seek Neal was infamous for playing when loopy or disoriented in a hospital.

“No, and I just got the call that he’s not in his room.”

Peter unlocked the drawer where he kept his badge and gun. “I’ll meet you at Jacobi. If you get there ahead of me, be careful. It’s possible this isn’t a game. Whoever wanted to kill Neal might have decided to try again.”

“I’ll be ready,” Henry said, and something in his grim tone worried Peter.

“You aren’t carrying, are you?” he asked, as it occurred to him that investigators at Win-Win were probably licensed to carry firearms.

“Not around Neal. He hates guns.” Henry hung up.

Peter pocketed the phone and decided that changing back into his suit would be a waste of time. He headed to the entry for his car keys and coat. Satchmo seemed to think they were going for a walk and was jumping around while Peter tried to put on his shoes. Elizabeth grabbed the dog’s collar and settled him down. “Thanks, hon,” Peter said.

“Is Neal in danger?”

“Hopefully this is just Neal playing a game, but my gut is telling me it’s more serious than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter we’ll finally see a conversation between Neal and his grandparents. And there will be handcuffs involved.
> 
> Many thanks for Silbrith whose beta services for this chapter inspired ideas for a future story. Setting up El as a romantic and matchmaker here will eventually lead to a case set at a wedding.


	21. Running

**Jacobi Hospital. Friday night. February 27, 2004.**

Neal woke with a gasp, and then relaxed again.

“That’s the third time tonight,” a man said. Neal couldn’t quite place the voice.

“Hush, Edmund. He’ll be asleep again in a minute.”

“All I’m saying is Noelle told us to call if he seemed distressed. She could have been a little more specific. Doesn’t this seem distressed to you?”

“You’re more distressed than he is.”

“It would help if she’d tell us what happened to him. I’ve spent all evening imagining what it might be that he’s dreaming about. Or flashing back to, in Noelle’s parlance. I think we have a right to know.”

“A psychologist can’t share details from her sessions with her patients, darling. You know that.” There was a pause. “Henry, on the other hand, seems to know more than he’s telling and doesn’t have doctor-patient privilege to fall back on as an excuse.”

“Oh, you think you’re going to crack that nut? Ten dollars says he’s not going to spill a single detail.”

What had he been dreaming about? Neal pondered that question as he drifted in a state that was not quite sleep. He searched his memory. Something was there, something new he didn’t recognize. Now that he noticed it, he kept coming back to it, fascinated but wary. It was as if he had lived in a house for years and finally noticed a door that had been there all along. Before he could decide whether or not to open it, he was asleep.

The next time Neal woke, it was more gradually. He had more of an awareness of his surroundings now. He remembered he was in a hospital after being given an overdose of Flashback. The sedative in the drug would have left him unconscious and then asleep for hours, according to the briefing Henry had given. “What time izzit?” he murmured.

“It’s Friday night,” said a woman. She sounded familiar. “Almost Saturday. Are you going to sleep the weekend away?”

He sighed and relaxed, but for once he didn’t drift back to sleep again. He was too curious about who the woman was. He listened as she carried on a conversation with someone else in the room, and he feigned sleep so they would keep talking. As he listened he sorted through a series of vague and dreamlike memories of the last day, trying to decide which pieces were real.

Soon he was more awake than he’d been all day, and he kept coming to the same conclusion: these people in his room were his grandparents. At various times he’d spoken to them and even played poker with them, without truly understanding who they were. But he’d seen pictures of them over the last few years, had toured their home in D.C. with Henry a few months ago over the Christmas holidays while they were out of town, and now that he could think clearly he recognized them as Edmund and Irene Caffrey.

Now what did he do? Was he supposed to sit up, admit he didn’t remember anything about them, and ask how they’d been doing for the last 20-some years? He didn’t feel ready for that conversation. But unless he could really fall asleep, he didn’t see how he could avoid it.

Whose bright idea had it been to leave him alone with these people?  

It had to be Henry’s fault.

He wished someone else would show up to take the focus away from him. Was there a way to get a doctor or nurse to come to his room? Neal considered trying a variation of a con he and Henry had perfected when he was 18. They’d go to a restaurant, order a meal they couldn’t afford, and then as the dessert was being delivered one of them would pretend to suffer an instant, migraine-like headache. Not waiting to eat dessert was the master touch. It helped convince people they weren’t faking illness to avoid the bill. And they’d made the act subtle, not yelling for help, but almost trying to hide the problem in the midst of a crowded restaurant. One of them would be hissing in pain and holding his head while the other pretended to search for medication they would discover had been left at their hotel. They tried to make it seem serious, but not so serious that someone would call for an ambulance. When they did it right, a good Samaritan would offer them a ride or would hail and pay for a taxi to their hotel. The restaurant bill would be forgotten in the concern for the sick boy and his anxious brother. If anyone mentioned the bill, usually a patron or the restaurant would promise that it was taken care of. A few restaurants had even sent them a get-well card in care of their hotel, with vouchers for a free meal.

It was easier to pull off the con with a partner, but Neal could do it on his own. If he convinced them he was in pain, they’d bring in someone to help. But that someone would probably administer a painkiller that would leave him out of it again, and he hated to give up his recently acquired mental clarity.

“You know, I’ve changed my mind,” Edmund said. “I’ll give the hospital coffee a try, if you’re still willing to bring me a cup.”

“Coffee snob,” said Irene fondly. “I thought you’d nod off before you’d be willing to try it.” Neal heard the tap of her heals as she left the room.

“You aren’t outnumbered anymore, Neal. Will you stop playing possum?”

Surprised, Neal opened his eyes, winced and squinted as he adjusted to the light. He stretched and tried to sit up.

“Here.” Edmund handed him the control that adjusted the bed from flat into a seated position.

When Neal was sitting upright he asked, “What gave me away?”

“You can’t expect a grandfather to give up all of his secrets. How else am I going to keep up with the younger generation?”

Neal rubbed his eyes, and looking up toward the open doorway he thought he saw someone. Not someone he knew, and incongruous for being there this time of night and not wearing scrubs. He blinked and the person was gone. Male, he thought. Bald, but taller than Mozzie. Closer to Neal’s height. He pushed back the blankets and started to slip out of bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Bathroom,” said Neal. Edmund stood and Neal steadied himself against his grandfather’s shoulder until he felt confident of his balance. The bathroom door was near the room’s entrance, and looking into the hall he caught another glimpse of the stranger. He resembled the photo Neal had seen of Seamus Bickerton, the lawyer he was supposed to meet in Boston with the contents of Adler’s safe.

The reminder of the case brought the same kind of clarity that working on a heist did on those rare occasions he was sick. Instead of meandering aimlessly, his mind came into laser focus. He suspected it couldn’t last long against the drugs in his system. He had to act quickly to take advantage of it.

When Neal opened the bathroom door again, he had a plan. It started with insisting he wanted to sit in one of the room’s chairs rather than returning to the bed. Then he asked, “Is it possible to get some food? I’m finally starting to feel hungry.”

Edmund offered to find out, and that finally left Neal alone. He pulled his belongings from a shelf near the chair, putting on a pair of socks and sliding his cell phone into a pocket in his sweat pants. He yanked off the patient ID around his wrist and tossed it on the table. Then he walked to the door. To his surprise, he found himself face-to-face with his grandmother. They stared at each other a moment. Then he leaned in to whisper, “Tell Henry I’m missing,” and slipped away with one of the cups of coffee she’d been holding.

He strode confidently in the direction of the waiting area, looking like a late-night visitor. But before he reached the exit he turned down a hallway, pulled out his phone, and dialed Bickerton’s number. Peering around the corner, he saw the man pull out a vibrating phone. Neal ducked back down the hall and found an empty room. He closed the door and said, “Mr. Bickerton? This is Nick Halden. Sorry about missing our appointment today. Things got a little complicated at Enscombe. Can we reschedule?”

“I heard about yesterday’s mishap, Mr. Caffrey. Having anticipated that you wouldn’t be able to travel to Boston, I took it upon myself to come to New York. In fact, I’ve only recently arrived at the hospital to pay my respects.”

“Very thoughtful of you. I don’t have the items you wanted on me. They’re stashed safely, though. I could meet you Saturday. Tell me what hotel you’re staying at.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Bickerton said. “I see you’ve slipped out of your room, but I’ll wait for your return in the hallway right outside. Be back in three minutes, or I may have to inconvenience the lovely couple who have been with you tonight. Your grandparents, perhaps?”

Neal wasn’t ready to get to know his grandparents. He certainly wasn’t ready to endanger them. “Fooled you, huh? FBI babysitters. They’re waiting to question me as soon as they realize I’m recovered. I’ve been acting sleepy and loopy all day, hoping for a chance to slip the leash.” He gulped down a portion of the coffee, hoping to add caffeine to the adrenaline coursing through his system. He needed every advantage he could get.

Had his grandmother called Henry yet? How long till he would arrive?

“Then tell me where you are,” Bickerton said. “We have things to discuss, and I prefer not to do it over the phone.”

“I prefer a little more anonymity.”

“How unfortunate for you. Two minutes to meet me face-to-face in the hall.” Bickerton hung up.

Neal removed the lid from the coffee and took another gulp. His phone vibrated with a text message from Henry: “There in 10. If Hospital Game UR in trouble.”

Neal texted back: “No game. Diversion in 1. Get family away from room.” He hurried back down the hall, then turned the corner to walk casually toward his room. “Ok, Bickerton,” he said as he approached the lawyer. “I thought you’d want more privacy than this, but here I am.”

A nurse hushed them. Bickerton moved closer to Neal so that he could speak more softly and still be heard. “Thank you for being reasonable. You’re right, this isn’t an ideal location. All I ask is that you join me in my car for a brief discussion, and then I won’t trouble you any further.”

Neal heard voices from his room. Henry must have gotten the message and called their grandparents. He saw their grandmother peek out at him. Behind Bickerton’s back, she waved and gave a thumbs up. “Sure,” said Neal, turning in the direction that would take them to the elevators. He took a step and looked back. “You coming? It’s this way.” Gesturing broadly with his right hand, he spilled the remaining coffee all over Bickerton. Then he ran for it. With any luck, Bickerton would instinctively give chase, forgetting his threat against the occupants of Neal’s room long enough for them to get away. Then if Bickerton returned to the room, he wouldn’t have them as hostages.

Neal had studied a map of the floor on his excursion, and ran with a destination in mind: the staircase. He was good at running. The only sport he’d cared for in high school had been track, and he used that experience to outpace Bickerton now. He reached the door to the staircase at the perfect time, slipping through and letting the door close behind him. It had a pressurized system to ensure the door would open and close slowly; no banging to disturb patients. No way could Bickerton miss the sight of the door softly clicking into place. Sure enough, the lawyer pushed the door open, heard footsteps going up and pursued. When the lawyer was a floor above him, Neal slid out from behind the door. With luck Bickerton would be several flights up before he realized he was chasing a nurse who happened to be going up when Neal reached the door.

Heading to the elevators, Neal read the list of what could be found on each floor. He pressed down. In the elevator, Neal grinned as he recalled another time he’d gone running. Henry had been letting himself go when he first found Neal, and outrunning him had become a favorite hobby. Finally Henry had gotten into the habit of jogging with Neal in the mornings, and now he belonged to a gym. He was too competitive to let his cousin leave him in the dust. Making Henry stay in shape was the only favor Neal had been able to do in return for saving his life.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

There was nothing like a late-night call from a hospital to get your heart pumping. Henry tamped down the panic, and focused his energy on a determination to find Neal.

But exhausted from a few days of worry, he couldn’t keep the panic from manifesting as anger. He found himself irrationally angry at Neal for getting into trouble. Again. Already. It’s like Neal had two settings: asleep and in trouble.

Then there were the moments of blind rage at whoever wanted to kill Neal. Henry wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do if he found the would-be-murderer. Sometimes he wished for a chance to be alone with that person to exact vengeance. Sometimes he hoped someone would be around to stop him.

And lastly were the flashes of guilt. He was mad at himself for letting Neal get into trouble. Mad at himself for being annoyed at Neal. Mad at himself for being jealous that Neal was the center of attention – and how irrational was that? Henry didn’t want to have Neal’s childhood issues or to experience an overdose of Flashback.

He shoved the anger deep inside with the panic and calmly asked his grandparents what had happened, and whether Neal had been loopy or clearheaded. He kept texting Neal, who seemed to be in his right mind but was having a little too much fun. But that was Neal for you. Too much boredom brought out his reckless side. And being confined to a hospital bed was admittedly boring. Based on what their grandparents had said, Neal probably wasn’t aware of just how traumatic the last few days had been for his loved ones. No one had told him how close he’d come to dying, or that someone still wanted him dead.

“Henry?” Peter said.

Henry looked up from his text messages to see his grandparents and Peter watching him. There was concern in their expressions. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about, now he was adding to their stress. A grin wasn’t going to fool anyone this late in the game, so he didn’t bother. “Neal’s in the basement,” he said, and started walking toward the elevators.

“We need a plan,” Peter said, walking beside him.

“I have one.” Henry described what he had in mind as they looked for a service elevator that would take them to the basement.

Neal had been on the move, finally agreeing to stay in one place when Henry had texted he was on his way. They found him in the hospital’s laundry area, leaning against a stack of folded blankets while talking on his phone. “I’m not an idiot, Bickerton. I’m not meeting with you in your car. Do you think you’re going to drive me someplace where I’ll be outnumbered and at your mercy? I don’t think so. Neutral ground or you can forget it.” He muted the phone and looked up at Henry. “Is my room clear?”

Henry nodded. Even though Neal sounded impressively clearheaded, it couldn’t last much longer. It had been 20 minutes since he’d sent that first text.

“Meet me back in my room,” he said to Bickerton and then hung up before the lawyer could try to negotiate something else. He stood up. “Thanks. It’ll be good to have backup for this.”

Henry grabbed one of the blankets from the stack and put it around Neal’s shoulders. It was warm in the laundry area, but would be cold once they left the room, and unlike Henry and Peter he wasn’t wearing a coat.

Pumped up on adrenaline, an unnaturally elated Neal told them about seeing Bickerton and the subsequent chase, and didn’t seem to notice that neither Henry nor Peter said much. It wasn’t until they got off the elevator that he started paying attention. “Wait,” he said as they turned toward the right. “This isn’t my floor.”

“We’re taking a detour,” said Peter.

Soon they were at the entrance of the chapel. Henry looked inside and asked, “Can you give us a minute?”

The only occupants of the room were their grandparents. “Are you alright?” Irene asked as she and Edmund walked toward them.

“Neal’s fine,” Henry promised.

“And you?” she asked.

“In a hurry.”

“I’m going to tell your mother you’ve been sassing me,” Irene warned. Then she and Edmund stepped out into the hallway.

Peter gave Neal a gentle push. “Make it fast.” He followed with Henry and closed the door behind them.

“What are –” Neal started to ask.

“That’s my shirt,” Henry interrupted. “I need it back.” He pulled off his coat and bright blue shirt. They were both wearing black sweatpants so only the shirts had to be swapped.

“What –” Neal tried again.

“Move it, Caffrey,” Peter said. “Give him your shirt.”

Henry hoped Peter’s use of Neal’s last name would emphasize Peter’s role as boss and remind Neal of the need to do his job. Unfortunately Neal reacted obstinately instead. He dropped the blanket on the floor, and put his hands on his hips. “Forget it. This my case, my meet. I set it up. You’re not going to impersonate me and take it over.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re still hospitalized,” said Peter. “You’re not cleared for duty yet, and you’ve missed a lot of updates on the case.”

Seeing Neal was about to protest again, Henry let loose some of his frustration. “Thursday you weren’t breathing on your own, and that wasn’t even the worst of it. I was there when your heart stopped. So forgive me if I think I’m more suited to working a case tonight.” He grabbed the shirt that Neal was still wearing and pulled him forward to get in his face. “Now, kiddo!”

“Take it easy,” Peter cautioned.

Henry let go and pulled out a packet of contact lenses.

Neal stared at him a moment, clearly processing the news that he hadn’t simply been unconscious during his stay at Jacobi. Finally he yanked off the white t-shirt he’d been wearing and tossed it at Peter, who handed him the blue shirt.

With shirts exchanged and Henry wearing blue contact lenses, Neal said, “Shoes. He may remember I’m not wearing any.”

“Got it,” Henry said, toeing off his shoes and leaving them on a pew next to his coat.

Peter opened the door, letting Edmund and Irene back inside the chapel. Henry got close and patted his back. “Thanks,” he said under his breath to the FBI agent. “He’s a lot more reasonable when you’re around. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Still unhappy about being double-teamed, Neal watched that final exchange between Peter and Henry with suspicion. “What was that about?” he asked Peter as Henry walked out.

“Neal, I need you to stay here with your grandparents,” Peter said. Then he snapped a cuff around Neal’s right wrist.

The fact that he hadn’t seen that coming gave Neal pause. Already he was losing his focus. “That isn’t necessary,” Neal said. But even as he protested, Peter put the other cuff around Irene’s left wrist.

Peter turned to the Ambassador. “Please, sir, keep them in here. Henry warned me they’re both equally volatile.”

“Well, really,” said Irene.

“Be careful, Peter,” Neal warned. “Henry made off with your gun.”

Peter reached for his weapon, came up empty, and ran after Henry.

Irene smiled guilelessly up at Neal. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages, but we’ve reached Edmund’s limit. He’s going to make us stay here. Sit down with me, dear boy, and tell me all about what Henry and Peter are up to.”

Neal sat beside her and eyed her handbag with interest. It might hold what he needed to get free. “Would you like to learn how to get these handcuffs off?”

Edmund pulled the bag out of their reach. “Behave yourselves,” he ordered. “Neal, you owe us an explanation of this case we’ve found ourselves embroiled in. Tell me a story and then I’ll decide if you’re allowed out of those cuffs.”

Irene patted Neal’s arm. “Keep in mind he’s Irish. He’s a sucker for a good story.”

Resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be joining Henry, Neal leaned back against the pew. No one could beat a con artist at spinning a yarn. “Well, it starts with a young sailor on a German U-boat filled with priceless treasure at the end of World War II.” He yawned, feeling the adrenaline dissipate, and concentrated on making a fascinating story out of the parts the FBI would let him share.

A few minutes into the story, Irene said she was getting chilled and asked Edmund to hand her Henry’s coat. She tucked it around both of them, although it seemed to Neal it was mostly over him. She leaned her head against Neal’s shoulder, and somehow it seemed natural to lean his head against her. Before he knew it he was sliding into sleep, and wondering if he’d been double-teamed again.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter got to the room in time to hear Bickerton say, “That’s right. I know where Meredith Bennett is hiding, and the name the Marshals gave her. If you don’t want me to share that information with your father’s enemies, you’re going to come with me.”

Henry was reaching for the gun he had “borrowed” when Peter made his presence known, announcing that Bickerton was under arrest. Peter held out his hand for the gun and gave Henry the look he remembered receiving from his own father, the calm expectation that his obviously reasonable request would be obeyed. But beneath that façade he hid grave doubts, because at the moment Henry seemed even more reckless and unpredictable than Neal. Peter was considering options for wresting the gun away when Henry finally handed it over.

The fact that Henry looked relieved gave Peter hope. Because it had been a close thing. If Henry had actually held Bickerton at gunpoint, Peter would have had to arrest him, too. Neal would probably be devastated if it came to that.

After the cops arrived and took Bickerton away, Peter studied Henry, who looked uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “What?” Henry asked.

“This isn’t you, Henry. You aren’t a killer.”

“I wanted Bickerton to believe I was. I wanted him to think he was going to die, like Neal almost died.”

“You’re assuming Bickerton is behind this. What’s his motive?”

“Money,” said Henry.

“That implies someone is paying him. That makes him a pawn in this game. Neal isn’t safe until we get Bickerton to tell us who’s calling the shots.”

“Bickerton works for Adler.”

“He used to work for Adler,” Peter corrected. “But if we think Adler wants to use Neal’s skills, Adler isn’t the one behind this. There’s someone else behind the scenes, someone looking for Adler who stumbled across Bickerton and decided to use him. Probably blackmailed him into acting as a go between, on the threat that Bickerton’s past association with Adler would be made known to the FBI if he didn’t play along. Instead of going off half-cocked, we’re going to keep our heads, think things through, and follow the trail back from Bickerton to the real threat. Are you with me on this?”

Henry nodded. “Let’s go question Bickerton.”

“No. He can stew in lockup for a while. We need to get some rest if we’re going to be sharp enough to get the real answers to this case. Let’s get Neal out of here.”

“Check him out of the hospital?” Henry asked.

“The doctor said he could leave on Saturday. No disrespect to your grandparents, but given how bold our would-be-killer is getting, I want Neal in a more secure location with a guard who can take down the next threat. And who can stop Neal from running into trouble.”

“That would be me.”

Peter agreed. He thought the best way to keep Henry out of trouble was to keep him busy guarding Neal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And the usual thanks to beta reader Silbrith for tolerating my writing and work angst over the last week. 
> 
> The next chapter will be titled “Back to Work.” Neal will be out of the hospital and certain he’s ready to get back to work as usual. Of course it will be harder than he thinks, as he hasn’t dealt with his returning memories.


	22. Back to Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no expertise in therapy, and the drug Flashback is a figment of my imagination.

**Jacobi Hospital. Saturday morning. February 28, 2004.**

When Peter and Henry woke him in the chapel, Neal was disappointed to find he wasn’t as sharp as he’d been earlier. But he’d known the focus brought by eluding Seamus Bickerton probably wouldn’t last long. He yawned as they urged him into a wheelchair. “D’you get him?” he asked.

“He’s under arrest,” Peter said.

“Said he’d hurt them,” Neal said. “Had to lead him away from my room so they could escape.”

“Yeah,” said Henry as he started to push the wheelchair. “You texted a warning to me and I told our grandparents to get out of there. You did good.”

Neal turned to look at Henry. He’d taken the blue contacts out. “You aren’t me anymore?”

“You’re both yourselves now,” said Peter.

They took Neal back to his room, where his grandparents waited. “We’re going to sit with you while Henry and Peter get you checked out of here,” Edmund said.

“I can go home?”

“One step at a time,” said Henry. “We’ll take you back to our hotel and make sure you’re safe.” He followed Peter out of the room.

“Safe from what?” Neal asked.

Sitting in a visitor’s chair beside him, Irene took his hand. “They think that awful man wanted to kill you, or to take you to someone else who would have killed you.”

Neal blinked. He knew that. His instinctive response was to say that he could take care of himself, that he had proven it by eluding Bickerton, but he realized it wouldn’t sound convincing when he’d already forgotten about the danger. “I don’t like being muddled.”

“Dear boy,” said Irene. “You’re rather sweet when you’re muddled, but I do look forward to having a conversation with you when you’re thinking clearly.”

He studied her, looking for similarities to his mother. Irene had the same oval shape to her face, the same green eyes. Her nose was familiar. “You’re my grandmother. I wish I remembered you.”

She squeezed his hand, and her eyes were bright with tears.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t…” He looked at the Ambassador. “I’m already getting it wrong.”

“We’ll make new memories,” Edmund promised.

“I wanted grandparents growing up. At Christmas I’d pretend we were going to visit them, and they would have a big tree decorated in red, with white and gold stockings hanging from a stone fireplace, and they would take me sledding down a snowy hill and give me hot chocolate. I used to tell Mom, but she told me to stop. I didn’t tell anyone about it after that, but I still imagined it.” He yawned, and then yawned again.

“Checking someone out of a hospital takes a while,” Edmund said. “Maybe we should get you back in bed while we wait.”

Neal nodded and leaned on his grandfather for balance as he moved to the bed. Almost as soon as he lay down, he started to drift back to sleep. But he thought he heard his grandmother sniff and say, “He _does_ remember, Edmund. Why did Meredith tell him to stop?”

“I suppose the Marshals told them not to talk about where they came from. She probably did it to keep him safe.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The hospital wasn’t happy about releasing Neal early, and managed to drag out the process for several hours. They even called Dr. Woodhouse, who returned to the hospital to speak to Henry. Upon seeing Peter’s badge and hearing about the incident with Bickerton, she finally agreed that Neal might be safer elsewhere. “He’ll stop feeling the physical effects of the drug soon. But the psychological effects aren’t as easy to anticipate. If he has traumatic memories that he has repressed or simply tries to forget, they have moved to the forefront of his mind. Most people don’t appreciate how important it is to get professional help for dealing with those kinds of memories. I understand your concerns about his safety, but I’m concerned about how he’ll cope on his own.”

“I get it,” Henry said. “I have a masters in psychology, myself. I don’t take this stuff lightly at all. A professional therapist will talk to Neal later today. You have my word.”

When they got to the hotel suite, it was after 6am. They had room service deliver breakfast. Edmund and Irene stayed for the meal and then went downstairs to the room they shared with Noelle, pleading exhaustion.

Neal, on the other hand, said he’d had enough sleep to last a week. He wanted to go back to his apartment to grab some clothes and other personal items. Peter and Henry both quashed that suggestion, and they came to a compromise. Peter would stay at the hotel with Neal, catching him up on the case. Henry would go to Riverside Drive to pack Neal’s things, including some art supplies.

Henry wasn’t surprised to hear a familiar voice as he left the mansion. She called out, “Neal?”

He faced Kate. “No. And I’m not letting you anywhere near him.”

“Henry, please. I know you don’t like me, but I can explain.”

“You were dating Neal, found out that the Winslows are a wealthy family, and came on to me.”

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t about the money. Vincent told me to find out about you, and your reaction when I kissed you told me a lot. I know you’re loyal to Neal. And you know he’ll want to see me. Just tell me where he is.”

“Until a couple of hours ago he _was_ in a hospital, and I’m not telling anyone where he is now until I find out who tried to kill him.”

Kate looked surprised. “I promise I didn’t have anything to do with it. I don’t want to hurt Neal. All I want is a chance to talk to him.”

“You want to talk him into giving you the bond from Adler, because you need it to crack the code in the passports. But Neal doesn’t have it anymore. You’ll have to negotiate with me if you want the bond.”

“What do you want?” Kate asked.

“I’ll get back to you on that. Give me your number and I’ll call you in a few days.” Once Henry had the phone number, he went back to the hotel, making sure he wasn’t followed. He wasn’t going to lead Kate or anyone else watching the mansion back to Neal.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Henry returned, Peter went back home. Noelle and her parents joined Neal, Henry and Graham for lunch. Neal let the conversation wash over him, without participating. He could con them into thinking he was comfortable around them and happy to talk to them, but didn’t want to start his relationship with his grandparents on a lie. Every once in a while he looked up to meet their eyes. They both seemed kind and understanding, but sad, and he blamed himself for the sadness. Neal pushed away his plate and said, “I don’t even know what to call you.”

“Angela started calling me Dor, since Ambassador was a mouthful for a child, and sometimes Henry does, too,” said Edmund. “Irene insisted that if I had a title she wasn’t going to settle for Mrs. Ambassador.”

“I know it’s old-fashioned,” Irene said, picking up the story, “but I decided to introduce myself to diplomats as the Ambassadress, and inside the family that turned into Dressa.”

“Dor and Dressa,” Neal repeated. “Unconventional.”

“And proud of it,” said Irene. She stood, smoothed Neal’s hair back, and kissed his brow. “Edmund and I are going home now. We’ll see you again soon, because we want to get to know you. But I can tell you need a break.”

Neal felt like he should protest that he didn’t need a break, but she was right. Grandparents were more than he could handle right now on top of everything else. He stood and hugged her. “Thank you, Dressa.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Noelle announced it was time for their weekly therapy session, Neal regretted saying that he didn’t need a nap. But he wasn’t tired. It was Henry who granted him a reprieve by plopping down on the sofa next to him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Noelle asked her son.

“The FBI assigned me to guard Neal. Go ahead. I won’t listen.”

“As if you could avoid listening, sitting right next to each other. Can’t you at least go to another room?” she asked.

“Nope.”

Noelle looked around the living area. “You can sit at the piano.”

“Ok.” Henry walked across the room to sit at the piano bench. “Better?”

“Almost. Turn around and start playing.”

“Mom!”

“You can stay in the room for the session as long as you play.”

Laughing for the first time that day, Neal called out, “Give us some Liszt!” Apparently not willing to take requests, Henry started playing “Trouble” by Coldplay.

“Would you like anything, Neal?” Noelle asked. “Maybe some water?” He nodded, and she walked to the suite’s bar to pour two glasses. When she sat down again, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Like a freak show.” Neal ran his hands through his hair. “For the last day and a half, family and doctors have been monitoring and staring at me. I get that’s what happens when you’re in a hospital, but even after we got here this morning I thought for a moment that I wasn’t going to be allowed to take a shower alone. I feel like everyone’s expecting me to explode or something.”

“That sounds frustrating.”

“But it’s over, right? They gave me Flashback, and I didn’t get stuck in a bunch of memories. I’m fine.”

“Hmm. You did have some nightmares and brief flashbacks. At one point you thought you were in the trunk of Vance’s car. As I recall from our last session, you didn’t remember being in his car.”

Neal shrugged. “So the memories are back. That’s what you wanted, right? I know everything that happened, and it didn’t overwhelm me.”

“Then you can tell me what you’ve remembered since being drugged?”

“No!” Neal said without thinking. “I mean, I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

“I know it’s uncomfortable, but hiding from the memories isn’t going to help. You need to express them. Trust me, they’ll find a way to express themselves if you try to hold them in for very long.”

“They aren’t…” Neal paused, trying to find the words to describe his mental landscape. “Before, I couldn’t find those memories. I had no idea where to look. Now it’s as if a light’s been turned on, and I can see the door. Whenever I want, I can find my way back to that door, and I know it’s unlocked. But I don’t want to open it. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Neal drank some water while he considered that question. “Maybe I’m a coward.”

“Tell me why you say that.”

“When Vance abducted me, he wanted to hurt me. The physical injuries were obvious, but they healed and don’t bother me now. But he also wanted to scare me. When I built the wall around those memories, I defeated him. I couldn’t be scared of something I couldn’t remember, right? But if I let those memories in again, he wins. I’ll always be scared of him.”

“I can understand why you felt that way as a child, Neal. You needed to escape those memories at first, and it was natural to block them. But the fact that they still scare you doesn’t mean you’re a coward. You mentioned that the physical injuries healed. Because they were hidden, the emotional injuries didn’t have a chance to heal. Dealing with them is painful, the same way that setting a broken arm can be painful, and it’s perfectly understandable that you’d like to avoid it.”

“But I can’t.”

“That’s right. Those memories aren’t going to stay behind that door. They’ll ambush you if you don’t deal with them. Wouldn’t it be better to face them at a time of your choosing, when you have people with you who can help?”

“I don’t know what to do. What happens after I open the door? Do I… Do I have to step inside?”

Noelle moved from her chair to sit beside him on the sofa, taking each of his hands in hers. “Start by standing in the doorway and looking around. Take stock of what’s waiting for you beyond the door. Then close the door and describe it to me, to let me see how to help you.”

He closed his eyes, squeezed her hands for a moment, and envisioned himself opening the door. There was a chaos of swirling images and sounds. Blinding light followed by darkness. The smell of blood. Pain. Fear.

“What else?” Noelle asked, making Neal realize he had been speaking those initial impressions.

He shuddered.

“Open your eyes, Neal. Look at me.”

He followed her instructions, gradually focusing on her.

“Can you tell me what you saw?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have the words.”

“Can you draw it?” Henry’s voice came as a surprise. Neal had forgotten his cousin was there. He nodded, and Henry brought him a sketch pad and pencils.

At first Neal drew a jumble, the lines jagged and random, like the chaos he had observed. But in the center of the page, an image appeared. A face.

“Vance?” Noelle asked.

“Yes.” Neal put down the pencil he’d been holding, realizing his fingers were cramping. He must have been drawing longer than he realized. “I’d almost forgotten what he looked like.” He stood and paced. “His face was one of the things I’d locked away behind that door.”

“What do you want to do now, Neal?”

“Run,” he said automatically. He’d been asleep or sitting down so much these last few days, he craved physical activity.

“The hotel has a gym,” Henry suggested.

Neal nodded. A treadmill wasn’t as good as a run through the park, but it would do.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

By mid-afternoon, Peter had finished interrogating Bickerton. The man admitted that he had been blackmailed by someone who had discovered that he had ties to Vincent Adler. The blackmailer had somehow known that the FBI had called about permission to search Enscombe, and had suggested hiring Nick Halden to break into the master suite to search for anything that might shed light on Adler’s location.

Bickerton insisted that he didn’t know where Adler was hiding, and hadn’t been in contact with the billionaire since before his disappearance. He also claimed not to know the identity of the blackmailer. They had communicated only by telephone. The man called himself Mr. Hyde, and always called from the same phone number. It matched the number that Churchill had been called from, belonging to a conference room in Win-Win’s Baltimore offices.

Meanwhile, Clinton Jones had been reviewing the logs of updates to the Adler case files, and confirmed Peter’s suspicions. During the first weeks of the case, while most agents involved were adding data, Hitchum had deleted data. Gil Goddard’s file, never very robust, had been edited down even further. Kate Moreau’s name had been eliminated from the files altogether.

Hughes called OPR. Jones and Peter went to Hitchum’s home. The house was locked, his car missing, and a canvass of neighbors told them that the agent had been seen carrying a lot of luggage to his car before driving away Friday night. No one knew where he had gone, and Peter was glad they had Henry guarding Neal.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sunday over lunch Graham announced his intention to return to Baltimore to help Allen Winston look for the person calling himself Mr. Hyde. A Win-Win corporate jet would come to New York Monday morning, and he’d be on his way home in the afternoon. Also arriving in New York Monday morning were two of his grandchildren who had offered to sail the _Executive Decision_ back to its home port. Graham suggested that Henry take Neal to the Federal Building Monday morning, pick up his Winslow cousins at the airport to bring them to a restaurant for lunch with Graham, and then take the cousins to the sailboat and Graham to the jet.

To Neal it sounded as complicated as arranging a theft. But maybe that meant there was hope for him. He could try treating family gatherings as if they were a crew assembled to pull off a heist.

Even though he wasn’t a Winslow he decided to give it a try, joining the discussion of logistics by asking Noelle, “Are you going back with Graham tomorrow?”

“Not yet, sweetie. We still have several more sessions to get through before you’re cleared for work.”

Neal placed his glass of orange juice carefully down on the table. “Excuse me?”

“We barely scratched the surface yesterday.”

“You agreed to clear me for undercover work if I met with you weekly. I kept up my side of the bargain. And now you’re saying I can’t go to work at all?”

“The Flashback overdose wasn’t part of the original deal. It changes your situation drastically. You aren’t ready to go back to work until you’ve dealt with the memories the drug helped you retrieve. You have to take the time for therapy, and make your mental health your top priority.”

“What about the person trying to kill me? Am I supposed to forget about that, make finding him a lower priority?”

Graham put down his silverware with an audible clink. “You’re supposed to remember that you’re part of a team, and part of a family. Trust the FBI and Win-Win to work on the case, and let Noelle help you.”

Neal leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he confronted Noelle. “What are we talking about here? A day of therapy? Two days? Two weeks? How do you decide I’m ready for work?”

She placed her napkin on the table and pushed away her plate. “The duration of therapy differs by patient. If I had to guess, I would say our weekly sessions need to continue well into next year. To deal with the effects of the drug, we’ll need several days at a minimum. If you’re up to it, we can have multiple sessions per day.”

“And what’s the criteria you’re using to clear me for work?”

“I’m not going to give you a list of signs for you to fake to get back to work before you’re ready.”

“It’s entirely subjective?” Neal pressed. “I thought the FBI had a test that agents had to pass after they’re placed on leave to show they’re ready to return to work.”

“That’s true. Once the psychologist believes the agent is ready, he or she is allowed to take the test as confirmation.” She held up a hand before he could jump in with his next point. “Neal, being hostile about this isn’t going to help. You studied psychology with Henry. Think about what you learned.” She stood up. “I’m going back to my room. Meet me there in an hour and we’ll start our next session.”

After Noelle closed the door behind her, Neal glared at Henry. “Thanks for the help.”

Henry shrugged. “She has a point. Look at it this way: You say you’re in a hurry to get this over with, but you keep putting up roadblocks. From her perspective, she’s doing everything she can to help you make progress, and you’re the one slowing things down. If you’d stop resisting her help, you’d realize you’re both on the same side.”

Graham stood up and on his way out of the suite’s dining room, he stopped by Neal’s chair and put a hand on his shoulder. “Your aunt’s a brilliant psychologist. You should try being grateful instead of resentful.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter was sitting at his dining room table updating case notes on his laptop, when his cell phone rang. Seeing Neal’s name on the caller ID, he snatched up the phone. “You ok?” he asked. Already he was standing up, looking around for his shoes in case he needed to go back to the hotel.

“I can’t do this, Peter. I’m getting it all wrong.”

Neal sounded upset, but not in danger. Peter sank back down to his chair to focus on the call. “What are you getting wrong?”

“Family. I brought my grandmother to tears so many times that she and my grandfather finally left. She said she could tell I needed a break from them.”

“Did you need a break?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, but I didn’t want them to know that. I’m a vaunted con artist. I should be able to fool them. Instead I drove them away.”

“You couldn’t just be thankful that you have perceptive and thoughtful relatives?” Peter asked.

Neal didn’t acknowledge the question. “And now I’ve insulted Noelle, and Henry and Graham hate me.”

“You can’t really believe Henry hates you,” Peter said. “Calm down and tell me what happened. Why do you think Noelle is insulted?”

“We had a session yesterday, and she wants another one today and I don’t want to do it. Weekly is bad enough. Daily means…” He paused for a shaky breath. “It means I’m a failure.”

Peter closed his eyes in sympathy for the pain in Neal’s voice. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what it means.”

“She won’t let me go back to my job. If I can’t be your consultant, what am I? I gave up crime. I don’t have anything left. I’m nothing, Peter. She took it all away.”

“Are you sure she said you can’t _ever_ come back to the Bureau?”

“She won’t tell me when I can go back, or what I need to do convince her I’m ready. I don’t know what to do. I’m nothing, now. Ellen took away my whole life.”

Peter took a deep breath. “Neal, tell me where you are.”

There was a pause. “In my room in Graham’s suite.”

“And what year is it?”

“It’s 19… 2004.”

“Right. And we’re talking about Noelle, not Ellen. Seven years ago Ellen told you that you were in WITSEC and that turned your life upside down. Learning your identity was a fiction was a big blow. But she didn’t do it to hurt you. She thought you had a right to know the truth.”

“I overreacted,” Neal said, sounding somewhat calmer.

“That’s not for me to judge. I’d have been upset if I learned my folks were keeping a secret like that from me. But I don’t believe Noelle intends to take away your identity. Can you do me a favor and talk to her? Let her know your concerns, clarify what she wants, and go ahead with one more session with her. If you still think she’s being unreasonable after that, let me know. But give her a chance, ok? I honestly think she wants to help you.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal knocked on the door of Noelle’s suite. The moment she opened the door he said, “I’m sorry.”

“Come in.” She led the way to a sectional sofa and handed him a glass of water. She curled up on one portion of the sofa while he sat on the other. “I want you to know I’m not mad at you, Neal. It’s not unusual for patients to resent or dread portions of their treatment. But you need to acknowledge what you’re doing and think about why you’re doing it. Can you talk to me about that?”

He nodded. “When I was a kid, Mom told me that Dad was a cop. She said he’d died a hero, in a hail of gunfire, and I wanted to grow up to be like him. When I learned the truth, I was lost. My whole life, my direction, it had all been a lie. Henry found me, saved me, really. For a while, I thought what we were doing could be a direction for my life. But it was more of an escape, an interlude. It had to end. Henry has a life, a destiny even, and he needed to be free to pursue it.”

Noelle looked like she wanted to say something, and Neal paused. But she shook her head. “Go on.”

“With Henry I was part of a team, but he was the leader. I didn’t think I had much value on my own. It didn’t really matter what I did. I had skills that leant themselves to crime, and was determined to be the best criminal I could be. It was fun, and it satisfied my pride to get away with it. But then I ran into Peter when he was working undercover to catch the leader of a crew I’d joined. He convinced me that I could use my skills to do something… be something worthwhile.” Neal rested his head in his hands a moment before looking up at Noelle again. “When you told me I couldn’t return to the FBI, I panicked. If I can’t go back, I don’t know what becomes of me. I know you think of it as a temporary break, but not knowing when I can go back, wondering if I’ll ever be allowed to go back, it makes me feel as lost as I did when I ran away from home.” He stood up, walking around the room. “Whose life will I disrupt this time to save me? Henry’s, or Peter’s, or yours? I can’t let any of you do that. Peter went to a lot of effort to get me this job. If I wash out, his reputation takes a hit. You’ve already put your life on hold. You have a professorship and practice in Baltimore that you’ve been ignoring for a week to be here with me. And now you’re going to stay indefinitely because I’m even more of a mess than you expected? You’re not even charging me for this.”

“I have cultivated a team of excellent assistants in both of my positions, Neal. I have much more flexibility than you realize. But thank you for explaining and sharing your concerns. That’s exactly what I needed to know. Why don’t you sit down, and let me propose a solution.”

Neal returned to the sofa. “I’m not used to talking to people about this stuff.”

“I’m honored to be the person you chose to work with as your therapist. I understand now how your work at the FBI gives you stability. I don’t want to disrupt that. Would it be safe to assume that there will be a lot of paperwork resulting from your undercover assignment at Enscombe and your hospital stay?”

“Tons of it.”

“I could authorize you to return to work on Monday for what’s sometimes termed _desk duty_. You’d be able to get through that paperwork and attend some meetings. You wouldn’t be allowed to do any work outside the Federal Building. I’ll talk to Peter about what you can do. At the end of each day, you’ll check in with him, and together you’ll determine if you need a day off before you go back. If you aren’t in agreement, you’ll go back for a half day. Does that ease your concerns with regard to work?”

Neal nodded. “It helps.”

“I want to be here for you, Neal. There is nothing else going on in my life right now that’s as important as you are. However, I will admit that I didn’t pack enough clothes, and I do have some papers I should return to my students at the university. If you promise to take it easy, I’ll go back to Baltimore with Graham on Monday, and return to New York Tuesday afternoon, and then we’ll resume our sessions that evening.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep things low stress.”

“If you need help while I’m away, let Henry or Peter know immediately. They can arrange for you to meet with one of the Bureau’s therapists.”

“It’s just a day. I won’t need anything.”

“You’re probably right, but I still want you to know you can ask for help if you need it.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Monday morning Peter tried to treat Neal normally. He was glad to have Neal back, but also felt like they needed to treat him with kid gloves. There was barely a minute of uninterrupted time to talk when Neal arrived. He assured Peter he was fine and apologized for “freaking out on you” on Sunday. Peter confirmed that Noelle had called and cleared Neal for desk duty. He recognized that it was good for Neal to be here, and that watching him like a hawk wouldn’t help. Peter told himself that the fact he was going to be swamped would be a good thing, preventing him from hovering over Neal and making the kid self-conscious.

The morning briefing was as awkward a meeting as Peter had ever led. Some team members welcomed Neal back. Others barely acknowledged him, suspicious about the passports Adler had commissioned for him. Then Peter had to explain that Agent Hitchum was on the run – suspected of tampering with the Adler case files – with OPR due to arrive soon to investigate. That announcement put everyone on edge. They all knew that when OPR investigated one member of a team, the rest of the team members were considered potential accomplices. The slightest misstep could suddenly become a big deal and your entire career and personal life could be put under the microscope.

Peter assigned Neal, Tricia and Jones to work on the Highbury case paperwork and to reconstruct the data missing from the Adler file. Tricia also spent some time looking for Kate, although Peter asked her not to tell Neal what she was doing. They didn’t want to add to the pressure on Neal by causing him to worry about Kate.

At the end of the day, Neal stopped by Peter’s office. “How’d it go?” Peter asked him. “You look a little tired.”

Neal took a seat. “Yeah, Bureau paperwork can put anyone to sleep. Case file audit logs aren’t much better. Things should get more interesting tomorrow.”

The arrival of OPR had kept Peter running in circles. He’d meant to ask Jones and Tricia how Neal was doing, but hadn’t had the time. “Anyone giving you a hard time about those passports Adler made for you?”

“Nothing overt. Don’t worry. We’ll close the case and I’ll win them over again. You warned me it wouldn’t be easy. So, about tomorrow – I’m thinking no Tuesday Tails since I can’t leave the building.”

“Makes sense. Are you sure you want to come in Tuesday? I was thinking maybe every other day this first week.”

“I’m fine, Peter.”

“Easy for you to say. I can’t shake the image of you on life support.”

“The doctor released me, and Noelle cleared me for work. You have to let go of what happened at Enscombe. I’m over it.”

Something was nagging at the back of Peter’s mind. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it. “Tell you what. Plan on a half day Tuesday. I’ll check in on you around lunch. That way I can make sure you eat, and we’ll see if you’re good for the rest of the day.”

“You’re the boss. See you Tuesday.”

It was another hour later when Peter finally went home. As he walked by Neal’s empty desk, he realized it was the Tuesday Tails bit that had been bothering him. Normally being constrained to the Federal Building wouldn’t prevent Neal from playing the game. The Hospital Game was essentially an indoors version of Tuesday Tails. Calling off Tuesday Tails altogether meant Neal didn’t feel up to something he could excel at even when he was sick.

Tuesday morning Neal still seemed tired, but OPR kept Peter too busy to pay attention to his team after the morning briefing. He didn’t realize how late it had gotten until Neal knocked on his office door, and he saw it was already 1pm. Neal smiled and handed Peter a cup of coffee. “Bureau’s best brew. I thought you might want some.”

“Thanks. You get something to eat?”

“Yeah, the hotel offers boxed lunches and I brought one with me.”

The OPR senior agent popped in. “Agent Burke, we have a lead on where August Hitchum is staying. We’re sending out a team. Do you want to join us?”

Peter stood up. “I’ll be there in a second. Neal, there’s no telling how long this will take. Check in with Tricia at the end of the day, ok?”

“Got it.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal did his best to avoid Tricia. Normally she was all business, but she was also a mother and she seemed to have the mom vibe going Tuesday. He suspected Peter had told her to keep watch while OPR kept Peter busy. And he was pretty sure she would nix his coming back to work on Wednesday. Whenever Neal felt exhausted, he looked up to see Tricia staring at him.

That’s why he waited until 4:45 to share a lead with her. “I’ve noticed a trend regarding Hitchum and a set of case files.” He handed her a list of cases with copies of their summary pages.

Tricia read through the list. “These are all things you were suspected of.”

“Right. All of them were tagged with James Bonds as a likely culprit, but I wasn’t involved in any of them. And in each instance, it was Hitchum who tied me to the case.”

“It’s like he wanted to keep you on the FBI’s radar.”

Neal perched on her desk. “Yeah. So we’ve got Bickerton contacted by Mr. Hyde in the last few weeks. Churchill was working with him for a year. Some of these cases are from 2002. Makes you wonder if this Mr. Hyde was in contact with Hitchum, first. One thing all of these cases have in common is violence. If agents had gone after me for these crimes, they would have treated me as armed and dangerous, increasing the chances that I’d have been shot.”

“Fortunately for you most of these were closed quickly, with the real perpetrators caught. For the few that remained we didn’t consider you a serious suspect, because Peter’s research indicated you weren’t violent.” Tricia stood up. “Good work. I need to take this to the OPR team.”

Neal had already learned that there was no such thing as a short conversation with OPR. Tricia would probably be with them at least an hour. At 5:00 he walked over to Jones’ desk and asked, “Any word on the search for Hitchum?”

“Looks like they uncovered his hideout, but he got away. They’re still searching for any clues to where he might have gone.”

“Sounds like he’s smarter than I gave him credit for. Listen, I was supposed to check in with Tricia before heading home, but she’s meeting with OPR.”

“That could take a while. We’re starting to call the conference room where they set up _the Black Hole_. People and files go in there and never return.”

Neal smiled. “All I want to do is get a good meal and turn in. I’d rather not face the Black Hole first. If she escapes can you tell her I checked in with you, and that I’ll see you both tomorrow morning?”

“Sure. I’ll let her know,” Jones said.

“Thanks, man.” That had been the easy part. It was one thing to trick Jones. Henry, who was waiting downstairs to drive Neal back to the hotel, was another matter. Neal managed to keep his energy level up through dinner. He’d counted on Henry leaving after the meal to pick up Noelle at the airport, but her flight was delayed and she planned to catch a taxi anyway. Henry was taking the bodyguard role a little too seriously for Neal’s taste. Fortunately he had a weakness Neal was willing to exploit.

Neal picked up Henry’s guitar. “Do you mind?” he asked.

“Go ahead.” Henry settled on the suite’s living room sofa and put up his feet.

Neal played a few chords, not settling on a song yet. “Long day?”

“This Mr. Hyde has done a phenomenal job of hiding his tracks. Pops has me following up on a few leads for how he got Flashback, but I didn’t make much progress. How about you?”

“Learning more about government paperwork and bureaucracy than I’d like.” Neal sat on the ottoman and started with “Wanted Dead or Alive” by Bon Jovi. He knew that one would make Henry smile. They harmonized on that song, with Henry growing more relaxed by the moment as Neal approached the song more as a ballad rather than rocking it out. Then he played “Learn to Be Still” by the Eagles. By the time Neal finished singing, Henry was asleep.

With his cat burglar skills, Neal was able to put the guitar away and retreat to his room without waking Henry. All Neal wanted was to get some sleep without being questioned about why he was tired so early in the evening. And really, it was no big deal. A few nightmares waking him up through the last two nights were nothing. What did people expect after what happened at Enscombe? He’d thought he was going to die before George Knightley had the idea of using the helicopter to get him to the hospital. Anyone would have nightmares after something like that. But everyone would assume that Neal was having nightmares about his childhood.

The fact was, Neal didn’t remember what the nightmares were about, just that he kept waking up with his heart racing. Sunday night he’d woken up three times. Monday night it had been more often – almost hourly. That meant he was so tired that he’d sleep soundly tonight, he was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, deluded Neal. In the next chapter he won’t be able to fool himself or those around him into thinking he’s ok. Plenty of angst and Peter to the rescue.
> 
> Once again thanks to Silbrith for excellent beta reader services and for being a sounding board as I whined about work eating into my writing time (working until 2:30am is not conducive to having brain power to write). There’s a chance I may have to skip posting next weekend as I get caught up.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading. If I haven’t yet responded to your review, please know that I’m grateful and flattered, and only exhaustion kept me from getting back to you.


	23. Sleepwalking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no expertise in therapy, and the drug Flashback is a figment of my imagination.

**Hotel suite. Wednesday morning. March 3, 2004.**

By 6am Wednesday, Neal gave up the pretense of sleep. His mind simply wouldn’t shut down. He’d heard Noelle return to the suite late Tuesday night. They were supposed to have had another session that evening, but with her flight running late, she was probably tired. And of course she’d seen the closed door of his room and would have assumed he was actually getting some rest.

The important thing now was getting to work. Neal couldn’t explain why, but he knew it was important that he return to the Federal Building. He also knew that Henry would probably try to stop him. Since Neal couldn’t explain, even to himself, what was so urgent about going to work, he needed to avoid Henry. He got dressed quietly, then waited for the sounds that told him his cousin was taking a shower. Neal slipped out of the suite and caught a cab.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Pleased that Neal was getting some rest – he’d looked too tired yesterday – Henry didn’t open the door of Neal’s room until a couple of minutes before 8am. He didn’t intend to wake Neal. He’d just confirm his cousin was sleeping comfortably and then call Peter to say Neal would be out for the morning, if not for the entire day.

But instead of Neal, Henry saw a note on the bed. It indicated that Neal had decided to go to the Federal Building on his own. Immediately Henry reached for his cell phone and dialed Peter’s number. It went to voicemail. He tried Jones.

“Henry, you got anything for us about Mr. Hyde’s Flashback source?” Jones asked.

“No. I’m checking on Neal. He slipped out this morning instead of waiting for me to give him a ride. I want to make sure no one took advantage of his being unprotected. Is he there?”

“Yeah, I saw him a couple a minutes ago. Hold on.” Jones’ voice became less distinct. “Caffrey, you having too much fun with those files to join us for the morning briefing? Time to head upstairs.” Then Jones spoke to Henry again. “He’s here. Not very lively, though.”

“Thanks. Let me know if I need to bring him back here.”

“Sure thing,” Jones said, and then ended the call to attend the morning briefing.

Returning to the suite’s dining room, Henry looked at his mother and shrugged. “Neal slipped out already. He’s at the Federal Building.”

“Why would he avoid us?” Noelle asked.

“If I had to guess I’d say he had a rough night, and knew we’d stop him from going back to work.”

“He equates…” Noelle stopped. “And I shouldn’t share what he said in therapy.”

“Not too hard to guess,” said Henry, filling a glass with orange juice and then sitting across from his mother. “Neal thinks he derives most of his worth from his work. And I’m starting to get his reluctance to meet the family. Once he was awake and aware of everyone, he was out of his element. His work for Peter is something familiar, where he knows what he’s doing. Not surprising that he wants to return to something that makes him confident.”

“Has he mentioned if he’s having nightmares?”

Henry leaned forward, elbows on the table. “He hasn’t said anything, but I have to think he is. I don’t think he’s getting much sleep.”

“Now I wish I’d gone into his room last night. I saw the closed door and assumed he was sleeping. But it sounds like he was just shutting us out.” She stood and refilled her coffee mug. “I wonder if he’ll ever admit that he needs help.”

“He hates asking for help,” Henry said. “He’s used to being on his own without many people he felt he could rely on. And when he was nine… He told you about the abduction, right?”

“What little he knows of it,” Noelle said as she returned to her seat at the table.

“When he asked a convenience store clerk to help him, the man was shot a few minutes later. Now Neal’s wary of involving anyone in his problems. He’d rather deal on his own than drag someone else into trouble with him. I think he’ll have to be really desperate before he’ll admit he needs us.” He ran his hands through his hair. “And I haven’t gotten anywhere on tracking down where Mr. Hyde got his supply of Flashback. I keep hitting dead ends. I’ve got two more leads to run down today, and they’re both long shots.”

“Give me one.”

Henry blinked in surprise. “Huh?”

“I used to work for Win-Win, and I’m as frustrated as you are. Let me follow up on one of those leads. I want to feel like I’m doing something to help Neal.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter couldn’t help noticing that Neal looked exhausted. He was physically present in the morning briefing, but Peter doubted that he followed even half of the updates, and he’d looked surprised when everyone stood to leave. Before Peter could decide how to handle it, Tricia stopped by his office.

“Peter, you have to do something about Neal,” she said. “I thought yesterday was bad, but there’s no way he can work today. He’s practically sleepwalking.”

“I noticed. Any idea what’s wrong? He seemed in better shape than this when he left the hospital on Saturday.”

Tricia shrugged. “He hasn’t said anything.”

Jones knocked on the open door. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to mention that Neal isn’t looking too good. I wasn’t sure he’d make it back to his desk, so I told him I wanted to collaborate on something and had him sit at my place.”

“This has gone far enough,” Peter said. “I’ll talk to him.” He walked downstairs to Jones’ desk. “Neal, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

Neal shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

Peter pulled over an extra chair and sat down to be at Neal’s level. “Sorry about what?”

“I can’t handle it. The nightmares. I couldn’t sleep. I can work without sleep. But they don’t wait for me to sleep now. They keep slipping through the door. I didn’t close it tightly enough and they’re getting out.” He looked at Peter, but his eyes weren’t focused. “The memories. They keep surrounding me and I can’t ignore them anymore. I want to get away from them and I don’t know how. They won’t let me escape. Sometimes I think I’m in St. Louis and I’m afraid the next time I won’t be able to find my way back here. I think… I think I need help.”

Peter remembered Noelle saying that Neal asking for help would be a positive thing, but it shook him to see the kid so vulnerable. “Will you talk to Noelle? Will that help?”

Neal nodded. “Please, Peter, can you find her? I don’t think… I think I’ll get lost if I try.”

Peter stood and waved Jones over. “Keep an eye on him. I’m going to track down Noelle and Henry.” He patted Neal on the shoulder. “Hold on, kid. I’m going to get you what you need. Remember that story you told me about Henry getting in trouble in Las Vegas? You’re going to tell Jones about it. Just keep talking and stay focused on Jones, ok?”

“Ok.”

Jones sat down. He looked concerned, but kept his voice jovial. “Let’s hear about Vegas, Neal.”

Neal’s breathing was a little uneven but he said, “There was a display of guitars Jimi Hendrix had played, and Henry wanted to see it. But he was disappointed that they were all in glass cases. He studied the layout of the display and said he had a plan that would let him play one of the guitars.”

Trusting Jones to keep Neal going for a few minutes, Peter ran back up to his office for privacy and placed a call to Noelle. He explained the situation and offered to take Neal back to the hotel to meet with her.

“Do you know of someplace else we could take him for a few days?” Noelle asked. “Maybe out of town? A new environment to distract him, and far enough that he can’t slip away from us to return to work or his apartment. After he got away from Henry this morning, I’m concerned about him trying to run away again. We could always lock him in a hospital pysch ward, but that will upset him even more. They’d have to sedate him, which would be rough on him after overdosing on the sedative in Flashback so recently.”

Horrified at the idea of locking Neal up in a hospital, Peter broke in with, “My family has a place, a cabin in the Catskills. No one’s using it this week. It’s a few hours’ drive and it sleeps ten. We can go there.”

“That sounds perfect. Let’s see. Neal, Henry, myself, you and Elizabeth. And you have a Labrador? A friendly dog could be very comforting to Neal. Then there’s luggage, Henry’s guitar and Neal’s art supplies. We’ll need to take two cars.”

“I’ll handle the transportation,” Peter said. “Let me call El. We’ll get packed and meet you at the hotel. I’ll have Jones take Neal back there now.”

“Can he wait with Neal? Henry and I are each out chasing different leads on Flashback. I think Henry’s closest to the hotel. He should get there shortly after Neal arrives, but I don’t want Neal to be left alone.”

“He won’t be alone,” Peter promised.

He asked Jones to take Neal to the hotel and to wait for Henry. After a quick call to El, he pulled together Hughes and Tricia to let them know he and Neal would be taking some personal days, and temporarily turned over the White Collar team to Tricia.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry entered the hotel lobby at a run, dashing toward the elevators. He didn’t notice Sara Ellis sitting in the lobby, but she called his name and ran after him. He pushed the up button and forgoing his usual finesse with the people who worked for him he asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation? What are you doing here?”

She seemed surprised at his abrupt tone, but rallied quickly. “The team’s worried. We expected you back at work on Monday.”

The ding of the elevator had Henry moving. “I am working. Allen Winston has a special project I’m helping with.” He entered the elevator and pressed the button for his floor.

Sara followed him into the elevator. “Then tell us. You need to stay in touch. There are rumors going around and someone needs to deal with them.”

“I can’t tell anyone. It’s top secret. Just…” He ran his hands through his hair, impatient to get to Neal. “Just tell them everything’s alright and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“That isn’t going to help,” Sara insisted. “The rumors are that you’re in some kind of trouble, and you won’t come back because you’re either banned by the board, or you’re running away again.”

“Who’s spreading that kind of story?” Henry asked as the elevator stopped on his floor. He strode toward the suite at a rapid pace, but Sara kept up.

“I don’t know, but it’s all over the office.”

Henry unlocked the door and stepped inside, looking for Neal. He was at the far end of the suite, on the sofa, playing the guitar. In the rush of relief, Sara’s words sunk in and Henry paused just inside the suite. “What do you mean, run away _again_?”

“According to the rumors, you ran away twice already. Once at 17, and then again at 20.”

This was bad. Sara’s older sister had been a runaway, and that was a hot button for her. Not only was someone spreading rumors, but these rumors were crafted to demoralize his team. “That’s seriously twisting the truth. Yes, I left home at 17. To go to college. And then at 20 I dropped out of college for a while, but I stayed in contact with my parents.”

Jones had walked over toward them. “I should get back to the office, back to something I know how to handle. No offense, but this is freaking me out. You good with it?”

“Yeah,” Henry said. “Did he give you any trouble?”

“He was fine as long as he had the guitar. Keeps playing the same song, over and over. Hasn’t said a word since we got here.”

“Thanks. I’ll take care of him.” Henry walked across the room and sat on the ottoman in front of Neal as Jones left. “Neal? You ok?”

Neal kept playing the song.

“Neal, talk to me. What’s going on in that head of yours? You hate that song.”

“Because it always works. It isn’t working this time.” He sounded distant, his words slurring.

Henry checked his watch. His mother should be here any minute, thank God, because it felt like his world was crashing around him. Neal really needed a professional.

Sara walked over. “Can I help with anything? I’ve never seen you look so… discombobulated.”

“I… Give me a moment.” He turned back to Neal. “You remember the lyrics, right?”

That got a reaction. Neal’s look of disdain was encouraging.   This was the Neal that Henry was used to bantering with.

“Right. Try singing it. See if that helps.” Henry stood up and motioned for Sara to follow as he walked over to the bar to pour himself a glass of ginger ale.

Neal was softly singing the words to “Nothing Else Matters.”

“We knew it had to be something serious to keep you out of touch,” Sara said. “Do you need help?”

Henry shook his head. “Neal’s the one who needs help. I’m just trying to hold things together until the cavalry gets here. And I… I’m sorry I can’t introduce you. I’m not sure how he’ll react to a stranger right now, and anyway I want to keep him off the radar.” He shrugged and gave her a crooked grin. “We’re nosy investigators. I know if I give you his full name you’ll run it back at Win-Win.”

“What’s… I mean is there…” She rolled her eyes. “Nice job of getting inside my head. No matter what I ask now, I’ll come across as nosy. Do you want to talk about it?”

Somewhat to his surprise, Henry realized that he did. “Neal went undercover last week and was given a massive drug overdose by someone who wanted to interrogate him. The hospital released him this weekend, but he’s still a little messed up. More than a little.”

“This was a Win-Win case?”

Henry shook his head. “FBI case. Neal works for them. I was along as a consultant, but the Bureau took the lead. It all went to hell, and I’m not going back to Baltimore until I’m sure he’s going to be ok.”  

“What’s the deal with the song?”

Henry looked back at Neal and smiled at an old memory. “It’s a lullaby.”

“Since when is anything by Metallica a lullaby?”

“If you play a soft, acoustic version it works. A few years ago Neal was seriously sick. I tried a lot of different tricks to get him to sleep. I knew playing a traditional lullaby would annoy him, and to get past his defenses I picked a song no one would think of that way. Eventually he figured out what I was doing and ever since he hasn’t been a fan of that song. But the last few nights he’s had trouble sleeping.”

“He thinks he can fall asleep while playing a guitar?”

“Sleep deprivation doesn’t lead to clear thinking. Trust me, normally he’s brilliant.” And it hurt to see his brilliant cousin struggling to cope. Henry needed to wrap this conversation up and get back to Neal. He took a deep breath as he considered the implications of Sara’s presence. “Very convenient that you happened to be in New York to tell me about these rumors. It reminds me of a rumor I heard. Are you interviewing with Sterling-Bosch?”

“I met with them yesterday. I’ve always been upfront about the fact that I’d rather live in New York.”

That was true, but it still hurt. It had only been six months ago that he’d finished training Sara. Henry sighed. “I’d planned to open a branch of Win-Win here, you know. I thought in a couple of years I could get Neal to leave the FBI and help me run a New York office.”

“I wish I’d known,” Sara said, looking guilty. “I might not have accepted their offer.”

Henry felt his brain belatedly kick into gear, and his mother’s warning came back to him. He guessed the source of the rumors. “Listen, Sara, I get it. I need to get back to Baltimore and take care of the people who work for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime, you can help me clear the air. I didn’t run away as a teen, and I’m not running away now. Let people know the rumors are simply the result of petty jealousy.”

Sara crossed her arms. “I can get confirmation about your past to convince people you didn’t run away then. But I need a little more than that if anyone’s going to believe me about the petty jealousy claims.”

Henry weighed his options. Only this morning he’d been saying that Neal should learn to ask for help. Maybe it was time to stop fighting this particular battle on his own. Sara could bring some things to light without fear of recrimination because she wouldn’t be working for Win-Win much longer. “You know my father and I aren’t exactly best friends.”

Sara raised a brow.

“The thing is, Robert’s career is everything to him, and it’s plateaued. The board wants to groom me as the next CEO.”

Sara whistled. “You’re saying this is a smear campaign by your father?”

“That’s my take on the situation. I think you can trace the rumors back to him. And Sara, I get what you’re saying about the team. I’ll talk to Allen Winston and my grandfather, make sure they look after my people while I’m away. I didn’t intend to leave you rudderless.”

“My fault,” said Neal, putting the guitar aside. “I’m keeping you away from what’s important.”

“Stop it!” Henry insisted. “You have to stop believing you come last. Nothing’s as important as you are, not today.”

The door to the suite opened, and Noelle rushed in. “Neal, are you… Oh, I didn’t know we had guests.”

“Mom, this is Sara Ellis. She works for me at Win-Win. Sara happened to be in New York and was asked to deliver a message. Sara, this is my mother, Noelle Winslow.”

Sara shook Noelle’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Winslow. You’re a legend at Win-Win. And, um…   Great, I meet a legend and I’m tongue-tied.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sara,” said Noelle. “I hope you won’t think I’m rude, but I’m here to see Neal.”

“Of course,” Sara said.

Noelle took a seat on the sofa beside Neal, who was strumming the guitar. “I’ve never heard you play before,” she said.

Henry led Sara toward the door and said, “Call me if you hear any more rumors. I might not be able to answer the phone, but leave me a voice mail.”

“I will. I’ll be back in Baltimore this afternoon. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Wanting to keep an eye on Neal during the trip to the cabin, Peter had rented a vehicle large enough to hold everyone and their luggage. He was still somewhat in shock. He’d never pictured himself driving an SUV. But he and El were comfortably ensconced in the front seat, the luggage, guitar and art supplies were in the far back, Satchmo had the back bench seat to himself, and Noelle, Henry and Neal were getting settled into the second row. Noelle took the middle, with Henry behind the driver’s seat and Neal behind Elizabeth.

It had taken longer than Peter expected to rent the SUV and get it loaded. They ordered room service at the hotel for lunch, rather than trying to eat on the drive up. If they didn’t stop, they could make the drive in four hours.

Neal had been quiet and withdrawn during lunch, and as they started the drive he stared out the window. They were leaving New York City behind when he asked, “Where are we going?” in a tone so plaintive that El made a sound that resembled a sob.

But then she put on her brightest smile and looked back at Neal. “You’re going to experience the Burke family cabin. Peter’s father and uncles purchased it decades ago and everyone uses it as a vacation spot. It’s in the Catskills, about 30 minutes from Cooperstown, which I can tell you from frequent experience is home of the Baseball Hall of Fame. It’s truly a beautiful area. You’ll be glad we’re bringing your art supplies. Many of the cabins nearby are rented by artists and writers seeking inspiration. In fact, the story of Rip Van Winkle was set in the same area. The family keeps the cabin well-stocked, but I’ll make a grocery run after we get there to pick up some fresh food. Last time I found some beautiful Cornish hens.”

“I remember those,” Peter said, trying to support El’s upbeat discourse. “They were great. Sounds like something Neal would like. Am I right, Neal?”

Neal looked somewhat confused and suspicious of Peter’s unusually boisterous tone, but he nodded accommodatingly. He went back to staring out the window while Noelle and Elizabeth talked about food. A few minutes later he asked, “Why can’t Henry come?”

Silence fell. “He’s here,” Noelle said.

“No. You said Henry can’t come to… to… Louis?”

“St. Louis?” Noelle asked.

“Uh-huh. He didn’t like it when we left. He yelled at the Marsh people to stop.”

“Marshals,” Noelle said. “You’re thinking of when the Marshals took you and your mother away. Henry missed you so much. But then he found you again, and he’s here now.”

Henry reached behind his mother to squeeze Neal’s shoulder. “Right here, kiddo.”

“Did you sleep on the trip to St. Louis?” Noelle asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m not surprised. Long drives are good for sleeping. Why don’t you try to get some rest now?” Noelle reached behind her for a pillow El had brought along for this very purpose. “You’ll feel better if you get some sleep.”

Neal looked longingly at the pillow, but shook his head. “No. The only way to stop the nightmares is to stay awake.”

“Neal, I’m going to help you control those nightmares, but it’s going to be draining. It will be much easier if you’re rested. Would you try to sleep if I promise we’ll wake you at the first sign of a nightmare?”

“I can’t.” Neal had been looking down, but now he faced Noelle. “It’s giving up too much control.”

She sighed. “Neal, do you realize that everyone in this car loves you?”

He looked perplexed. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, I can see that. Let’s try this another way. Do you trust me?”

There was a pause as Neal considered. Finally he said, “I trust Henry.” Another pause. “And Peter.”

“That’s a start. Henry, will you vouch for me?” Noelle asked.

“You can trust her for the next few days, Neal,” Henry promised. “She won’t let anything happen to you, and I’ll help.”

“A few days?” Noelle protested.

“Hey, that’s a big step. If I said to trust you forever he probably couldn’t handle it.”

“A few days,” Neal agreed. He took the pillow and leaned against the passenger door. Within minutes he was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next two chapters, Neal will share his repressed memories. There will be at least three chapters at the cabin before they return to Manhattan to solve the case and hold a birthday party for Neal.
> 
> Thanks to beta reader Silbrith, who showed extreme patience providing feedback on several versions of this chapter. Between accepting a new job only to have that job disappear in a hiring freeze, and hitting the first anniversary of my mother’s death, I had some struggles getting through this part of the story. But I still have hopes of finding a job that will allow me more time to write – wish me luck!
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading!


	24. Flashback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no expertise in therapy, and the drug Flashback is a figment of my imagination. I’m also not a medical expert, and the injuries and treatments described are intended for dramatic effect rather than medical accuracy.
> 
> Warnings for graphic descriptions of child abuse. It gets violent and bloody. If that’s disturbing for you, stop reading after Henry plays his guitar, and pick up the story again after the next scene break, where Henry yells Neal’s name.

**Burke family cabin, Catskills. Wednesday afternoon. March 3, 2004.**

By the time they arrived at the cabin and took a brief walk through the wooded surroundings, Neal felt much more normal. The combination of a few hours of sleep and a setting he longed to paint made a big difference in his outlook. He felt grounded now, rather than adrift in his memories.

As they entered the cabin, he took in the sheer rustic beauty. The rough-hewn posts, the polished wood floors, the log walls, the massive stone fireplace, the pair of overstuffed plaid sofas that faced each other from opposite sides of the fireplace – this cabin seemed too pure to be sullied by his emerging memories.

He wandered into a kitchen that had recently been updated with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. The pantry held the bare necessities, soon to be augmented when El returned from the nearest grocery store. From here he could survey most of the main floor. The windows on the front of the cabin framed a pristine mountain view. On either side of the fireplace, shelves were filled with books and games. This was a place for family, for children. It should remain innocent.

Henry and Peter were carrying in the luggage, Neal realized, and he stepped forward, but Noelle put a hand on his shoulder.

“I should help,” he said.

“Let them do this. They feel helpless. Being active gives them a sense that they’re doing something for you.”

When El returned, Neal assisted with the dinner preparations while Henry and Peter carried in firewood. Soon they had a blazing fire in the fireplace and a beautiful meal on the granite island that served as a dining table. They gathered on barstools and ate. Neal appreciated the simplicity of the meal – nothing too rich – because his stomach was churning at the thought of what would happen next.

There was conversation, but it flowed over Neal. His worries and doubts kept distracting him. In fact, he was surprised to look up and see El and Henry were loading the dishes into the dishwasher.

Noelle was talking to Peter. “I love open concept homes, but it is a challenge from a therapy perspective. It doesn’t offer much privacy.”

“There are three bedrooms upstairs,” Peter said. Neal finally noticed that while the fireplace led up to a vaulted ceiling, the opposite side of the cabin had lower ceilings and a staircase leading up to a second floor. “They’re tight, but you could close the door.”

Neal wanted to suggest that they not do this. He felt much better than he had this morning, but he knew it was a temporary reprieve. If they didn’t have this session, he’d spiral back into a cycle of nightmares and flashbacks. “Can we do it outside?” he asked.

“It’s dark and cold out there,” Peter protested.

“But in here it’s…” Neal gestured around the room. “It’s cheerful and good and light. I don’t want to spew my darkness all over it and ruin it.”

Peter shook his head. “Kid, this place has seen poker games, bachelor parties, an affair and subsequent fights leading to my oldest brother’s divorce, and my Uncle Ed’s heart attack. Not to mention the microwave incident that we never speak of in front of my mother, but caused so much fire damage we had to replace the kitchen a couple of years back. It’s no stranger to real life.”

“Let’s look at the bedrooms and see which one you’d like to use,” Noelle suggested.

“No. Here,” Neal said.

“I guess Henry and El and I could head upstairs, and turn in early,” Peter said.

“Stay,” Neal requested. “That way I don’t have to repeat it for you afterward.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” said Henry, “but are you sure you want us to hear it?”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Neal countered. “I sure don’t want to hear it a second and third time. I want you and Peter to know, so you can… you can…”

“What?” Henry asked softly.

Neal stared into the fireplace, craving the light and warmth. He felt so cold and dark inside. “Help me deal with it.”

They gathered in the family room, Peter and El on the sofa facing the kitchen and Neal and Noelle on the sofa opposite. Henry took a chair facing the fireplace. Everyone had changed out of their suits and business wear into something more casual and comfortable. Neal had learned that the two sofas were sleepers. Henry had claimed them for the cousins, with the Burkes and Noelle taking their luggage to the rooms upstairs. It would all be very organized and cozy, once they got past this session.

“Should we have popcorn?” he asked, trying to break the tension, but no one laughed.

“Make yourself comfortable, Neal,” Noelle said. “Is there anything we can do or get to help you relax?”

“Satchmo?” The dog lifted his head at the sound of his name. He’d been lying on his blanket on the other side of the room. “Is it ok?” Neal asked.

“Go ahead,” said Peter.

Neal called, “here boy,” and the Labrador ran over. Neal scratched his ears, and left a hand resting on the dog’s head as he sat up straight again to face Noelle. “I can’t think of anything else that’s gonna help.”

“In our first session, you told me about Vance abusing you when he dated your mother, and how she learned of the abuse. You said he disappeared from your lives for a time, and then he followed you home from school one day. Tell me about that again, and add in the new parts you remember now.”

“It was late April, a warm, sunny day. When the weather was nice I’d cut through a park on my way home. There was a wooded area. To adults it was just a greenbelt, but to a nine-year-old boy it was a magical forest rife with opportunities for adventure. I could spend hours out there, especially if Mom was working late, like she had been recently. It was starting to get dark, and I knew I needed to head home. I followed the creek until I could see my backyard. It hadn’t rained recently, so the creek was narrow enough and the banks dry enough that I could jump across it without getting in trouble for having globs of mud on my shoes. I’d just made the jump when I heard something behind me. Vance was there. He stepped across the creek so we were both on the same side.”

Neal could feel the fear building, as if it were all happening now. The shock of seeing Vance again after so many weeks. The terror caused by the anger on the man’s face. “He was so mad. He told me I broke my promise not to tell, and now I had to pay. All I could think was that I had to get away. Ellen had taught me about evasion and hiding in case we were found by Dad’s enemies, although I didn’t know that was the reason. But I knew a dozen places to hide, and I ran deeper into the woods, scrambling between trees for cover until I found one I liked to climb. But Vance was too fast. He caught up with me as I was still hanging from a branch a man his height could easily reach. I was trying to swing my feet up, but he grabbed them. I hung on and he pulled until I was hanging by just my right hand. Then he let go, and before I could reach up with my left hand again, he swung a blow at the arm carrying all of my weight. I could hear the bone crack, and then I couldn’t hold on and fell to the ground. It knocked the breath out of me. I was still gasping for air when he kicked me in the ribs. The blow caused me to roll downhill, toward the creek. It was rocky, and my head hit one of those rocks hard enough to knock me out.”

Until recently that had been the last thing Neal remembered until he was released from the hospital. Now the rest of the memories were there, slippery and twisting in his grasp, but he could see where they led. “Oh, God.”

Satchmo whined and jumped on the sofa next to Neal, who turned away from Noelle to rub the dog.

But barely a minute later Noelle said, “Keep going, Neal. You need to tell me the rest.”

He faced Noelle again, but barely saw her. His vision was focused on the past. “I came to in the trunk of Vance’s car. I had a concussion, although I didn’t know that word when I was nine. I just knew that my head hurt, and I was dizzy and queasy. The car was moving, and I couldn’t tell where we were or how much time had passed. It was dark. I felt around to get my bearings. There were tools, not unusual for a car trunk, I guess, but the hammer especially made me uneasy, and when my hand landed on the rope… That’s when it came to me: he didn’t just want to hurt me this time. He wanted to kill me. Between the pain in my arm and the fear and the concussion, I faded in and out a bit. But I came around again and realized we had stopped. I could hear he was opening the gas cap, and filling the tank. Then I heard his footsteps, going away. I’d found the latch to open the trunk, and popped it open to see him walking around the corner of the building, to the restrooms. I slid out of the car, closed the trunk as quietly as I could, and stumbled my way to the convenience store portion of the gas station.”

Peter leaned forward, but El poked him before he could speak.

“It was dawn,” said Neal. “I didn’t recognize where we were, but later I learned we were on the western outskirts of St. Louis. I never figured out where we went in all the time that passed before I escaped the trunk. It seemed like we were driving forever.” He looked at Henry. “Do you know?”

Henry nodded. “Vance had moved to Kansas City after the relationship ended with your mom. I got the impression that the Marshals had pressured him to put some distance between him and you. It was before Amber Alerts were introduced, and I don’t know if the Marshals would approve an Amber Alert for someone in WITSEC, anyway. He’d driven about halfway across the state that night when he heard reports on the radio about a missing child. Few details were given, but Vance was described with speculation that the abductor was taking the kid to Kansas City. He turned around at that point. He still had a home in St. Louis that hadn’t sold yet, and that was probably his alternate destination. Probably would have…” Henry closed his eyes and couldn’t continue.

“Buried me in his backyard?” Neal asked. “I suppose so.”

“Neal,” said Noelle, “you need to stay with the story. What happened after you walked to the convenience store?”

“There was a man behind the counter. Big, burly guy with a Russian accent. His nametag said Anton Nikolov. He asked… He asked if I needed help.” He paused and shuddered, dreading the next part. “I feel sick.”

Noelle looked at his face and said, “Go,” and he ran to the main floor bathroom to throw up.

Neal didn’t hear Peter follow him, but he was there with a damp towel when Neal’s stomach was empty. While Neal remained on his knees, wiping his face, he heard voices. First it was Peter telling Henry to grab a clean shirt, followed by El offering to get a glass of water. When they were gone and it was just Peter there, Neal whispered, “I don’t want to do this.”

Peter kneeled beside him and took the towel. “I know it must be bad to affect you like this, and I hate to see you suffer. But I think you need what Noelle is doing. This stuff is running rampant in your head like some wild animal trying to break free. It’s going to hurt you unless you learn how to tame it.”

Neal almost smiled. “Noelle’s a lion tamer?”

“Sure. You’re a reformed cat burglar who still moves like a feline, so your personal monster would be a lion, I suppose.”

Henry returned with a sweatshirt. “You need any help?”

“No, I got it,” Neal said, pulling off his shirt. Then he caught the fresh shirt Henry tossed at him. “Can you find my toothbrush?”

A few minutes later, he was back on the sofa. Noelle reached for his hand and then took his pulse. “You look calm, but your heart is racing. Let’s try to slow it down a bit.” She talked him through some deep breathing. “How are you feeling now?”

Neal shrugged. “Cold, I guess.”

“I could make you a cup of hot tea,” Elizabeth volunteered.

That sounded soothing. Neal nodded. “Ok.”

“I’ll help.” Henry followed El into the kitchen.

Neal frowned and Peter asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Henry likes to keep busy when he’s nervous. What’s he nervous about?”

“He’s worried about you,” Noelle said.

“But he’s already read the police report and trial records. He knows what happened, and that I survived. What’s for him to get nervous about?”

“Think about what you just said, Neal,” Noelle requested. “Even when you didn’t remember what happened, you knew you had gotten through it. You survived, and thrived. Facing the past isn’t going to change that.”

“Thrived?” Neal repeated as he heard the ding of the microwave.

“Despite everything Vance had planned, you grew up to be a bright, talented, healthy adult. You have good friends, a fantastic apartment, an exciting job, and a father figure who treasures you.”

Neal raised a brow, expecting a laugh or sarcastic comment from Peter. “ _Treasures_ is a bit much.”

“No it isn’t,” said Elizabeth, who handed Neal a mug. “Getting my husband to take time off work almost requires an act of Congress. But this morning, when he saw you needed to get away, it was his idea to take off the rest of the week and bring you here. If you weren’t important to him, he’d already be planning how to slip back to Manhattan for the next couple of days and meet us back here on Saturday. The fact that it hasn’t even crossed his mind tells me Noelle is absolutely right.”

Neal had to think to recall what day it was. Wednesday. Peter would be out of the office most of the week, because his wannabe son couldn’t cope. He was raining chaos on everyone’s lives. “I’m –”

Peter interrupted. “Your next word had better be _grateful_. Because if it’s _sorry_ , we’re going to have some other words when this is over.”

Neal nodded. “Grateful.” And he was grateful, but he was sorry, too. Henry and Elizabeth were back in their seats now. Henry did look worried. “Am I doing the right thing, making them listen to all of this?” Neal asked Noelle. “It’s hard on them.”

“Not being here for you would be harder,” Henry said before Noelle could respond.

“It’s a challenge either way,” Noelle answered. “There’s rarely an easy path for your loved ones in this kind of situation. They want to do something to help. Right now listening and understanding is all they can offer, but only if you’re comfortable with it. If you feel you can’t talk about your experiences in front of them, then tell me, and we’ll find a place to be alone.”

Neal considered it. Part of him wanted their support now, while another part of him wanted to spare them. There wasn’t a perfect answer. Over the years as a con artist he had learned to keep secrets until hiding the truth became second nature. It made him resist sharing these painful memories, and would make it hard to repeat the process again later. His initial instinct had been to let them all hear the story in a single telling, and he relied on his instincts. “They can stay.” He looked up at each of them. “If you want. You don’t have to stay.”

“Stop it!” Henry’s hands were balled into fists. “That’s what you said to Jones and George Knightley when you thought you were dying at Enscombe. _You don’t have to stay_. You’re not going to die.”

For a moment Neal met Henry’s eyes and simply stared. Having read the hospital files, only Henry knew how close Neal had come to dying at Vance’s hands. Revisiting those moments wouldn’t be easy for either of them. If Henry couldn’t handle it, he should leave, but of course he would refuse to go. Neal wished he could think of a way to calm Henry down. And that wish brought Neal far enough out of his nightmarish memories that the solution came to him. “Get your guitar.”

“What?” It was rare to see Henry so astonished. Usually he was better at either anticipating situations or masking his surprise.

“Play a song. It will calm us down.”

Neal drank his tea and enjoyed the sense of reprieve. He heard Henry say the song was called “Fix You,” and he let his mind drift as he listened. The song had been a clever choice. Neal had never heard it before, and it engaged his curiosity. He wondered where Henry had learned it, and who had written it, and if there was a piano arrangement he could learn. He pondered who was the original artist and thought he’d like to hear Coldplay perform it.

And when the song ended, Neal dove back into his memories and started to talk. The memories absorbed him, and soon he was back in St. Louis again.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

He stumbled up to the door and pushed against it with his left shoulder, cradling his broken right arm. The door was heavy, but he was determined. There were chimes as he entered and he held his breath, afraid Vance would hear and come running.

A big man stood behind the counter. He had gray hair and a beard, and was stocky in his build. He looked a little like Santa Claus in gray slacks and a blue shirt. He turned to look at his newest customer and his blue eyes widened. “What happened to you?” he asked, with a Russian accent. Now that he was facing the boy, it was possible to see a nametag that said Anton Nikolov. “Do you need help?”

The boy nodded. “The man driving that car,” he gestured out toward the large brown sedan, “he…” The boy didn’t know how to describe it, but he looked down at his shirt. There was blood, he realized. He was finally noticing the cuts and scrapes on his face and arms from rolling down the rocky embankment. His green shirt was splattered with blood stains. There was a cut on his ankle that had reopened as he had walked and was oozing blood. Transfixed by the sight, he remained frozen until he heard whining and looked up to see a German Shepherd peeking at him from behind the counter.

“Sasha, quiet,” Mr. Nikolov said. “That man, is he your father?”

“No! He used to date my mom, but she made him go away when she learned what he was doing.” He sniffed, becoming a little teary-eyed. He wanted his mom or Ellen. They’d make Vance go away and they’d know how to stop the pain. “It hurts.” He sniffed again. “He put me in the trunk. You aren’t supposed to do that.”

Mr. Nikolov looked out the window. “You closed the trunk, smart boy. Come here. Don’t be shy. We need to hide you. Sasha will protect you, and I will call the police.”

The boy curled up under the counter, pushing Sasha’s water bowl out of the way. The dog sat closely beside him. She jostled his broken arm and it hurt, but she was warm and made him feel safe. He leaned against her and closed his eyes while he listened to Mr. Nikolov.

“Yes, the car, it matches the description from the news, about the missing boy. Yes, dark hair, blue eyes, white sneakers, jeans and green shirt. The man went to the restrooms and is returning to his car. Now he is getting in the driver’s seat… Wait, he’s getting out. He’s opening the trunk, where the boy was. Now he’s looking around. Hurry! He’s walking this way. No, he has a big coat on, too bulky to see if he is armed.”

The boy whimpered.

“Quiet, boy! You must be quiet or he will hear you.” The chimes over the door sounded again. “Hold please, I have customer.” There was the sound of a phone handset being placed on a counter, rather than being hung up. “Good morning.” His accent had grown much thicker since Vance entered the store. “You buy something?”

“Where is he?”

“Sorry, my English not so good. Cigarettes?”

“I know the boy is in here. He left a trail of blood leading right to you.”

“Oh, make Nadia mad. She scrub floor. Always scrubbing. I get towel. Where did I leave towel?”

Vance came closer and Sasha growled. “What are you hiding back there?”

“Sasha, very protective. Not like stranger near pup. Sasha, stay. Strange man stays, you stay.” Mr. Nikolov stepped forward from behind the counter, blocking Vance’s view. “Sasha and her pup, we let them sleep, yes?”

“Get out of my way!” Vance pushed Mr. Nikolov toward the front of the store. The store manager grabbed Vance’s arm, trying to pull him away from the counter. Vance shoved again, pulled out a gun and shot Mr. Nikolov in the chest. The kind stranger slid down along the windows, his hands against the bullet wound, covered in blood.

This was what the boy had envisioned when his mom described his dad: killed in a hail of gunfire. James had died defending the world, including his son, from the bad guys. Mr. Nikolov couldn’t be dead, too. There had to be something he could do. Sasha ran out to be with her owner, and the boy surged out of his hiding place intending to join them.

Vance had been distracted by the large, determined dog. He raised his gun and took aim at Sasha.

“No!” The boy shoved against Vance, making the shot go wild. Sirens could be heard now as Vance hit the boy repeatedly with the gun. He slid into a display of chips and a shelf broke, causing glass shards to cut his already broken arm as he fell. More blood soaked his shirt as he tried to scramble forward, still set on reaching Mr. Nikolov.

“I should have killed you at the park, but I wanted you to be awake for it,” Vance said as he squatted down to grab the boy by his feet. Vance swung him along the floor, flipping the boy so that he was on his back. The boy crashed into another display case, and he felt a rib snap before being swung in the opposite direction. This time his head hit the steel corner of the counter and there was a horrific crack of bone breaking again. He went completely limp and could feel a warm pool of blood spreading from beneath his head. He couldn’t see it, but by now he recognized the smell of blood.

His eyes were closed and he couldn’t open them. He couldn’t move, could barely hear the footsteps rushing in and the orders to put the gun down. Someone took Vance away.

“The child, he isn’t breathing,” Mr. Nikolov rasped.

Still stunned from the blow to his head, the boy realized he needed to breathe. How do you breathe? He’d never thought about it before, but the lack of air hurt.

How do you breathe? He concentrated and with every bit of energy he had, took a very small breath. It was so hard.

“It’s clear. Bring in the medics.”

More footsteps. A hand on his chest. “Still warm, but not breathing. God, I hate when it’s a kid.”

“The store has surveillance cameras pointed in this direction. The guy won’t get away with it.”

“Well, that’s something, anyway.”

The boy heard Sasha’s nails clicking on the linoleum. He felt her cool nose against his face, and heard her whine.

“No, stay away from him. What’s the dog’s name?”

“Sasha,” gasped Mr. Nikolov. “Come here, girl. Sasha, stay.”

“Thanks, but try to stay still, sir. You’ll be ok if you can hold still and let us stop the bleeding.”

“We’re going to start processing the scene over here, officer, if you’re done.”

“Yeah. Just don’t let anyone follow you inside. Word is the kid’s mom is out there and she doesn’t know yet. Get your photos and then we’ll clean him up a bit before we ask her to identify him.”

“He’s just a boy,” Mr. Nikolov said on a sob. “Just a little boy.”

“I know. Hush, Mr. Nikolov.”

Sasha walked over again. The boy tried one more time to remember how to breathe. It shouldn’t be this hard. The dog whined.

“You gotta get out of the way, girl. Let me finish the chalk outline and then we’ll move him out of this mess.”

She whined again and the boy finally managed another breath.

“Whoa! Juan, get over here. The kid’s trying to breathe.”

“You think he survived that?” The medic’s voice grew louder as he got closer.

“No kidding. I saw his chest move.”

Someone lifted an eyelid and shone a light. A hand ran over his torso. “Too many broken bones for chest compressions, it’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t have a punctured lung by the time we lift and transport him. Mirabelle, this one needs oxygen!”

“I thought there was just one…” started a female voice. “The kid’s alive? God! I’ll be right back!” Her voice was faint as the store’s door closed behind her. “Bring the other stretcher, now! Get a move on!”

“He going to be ok, Juan?”

Juan was running his hands along the boy’s head, seeking the source of the pool of blood. He found it, and the boy found enough energy to whimper. “That’s a skull fracture. Hurts doesn’t it? We’re going to get you to a hospital and take care of you. Do me a favor, and breathe? Like you did before. I know it isn’t easy but you gotta try. That’s right. Good boy.”

As they moved him onto the stretcher his head swam and it was harder to keep track of what people were saying. There was a bump as they maneuvered the stretcher out the door, and that jostling was the final straw. Enveloped in pain, he passed out. The last thing he remembered hearing was his mother scream right after the chimes sounded to let him know he was leaving the building.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“Neal!” Henry ran over from his chair to shake his cousin. “Don’t you dare pass out!”

“He’s tired, Henry,” said Noelle. “He’s falling asleep.”

“Not until we get his head back in the here and now,” Henry insisted.

Satchmo hopped back onto the sofa beside Neal and whined. Neal roused enough to pat the dog. “Sasha?”

“No, it’s Satchmo. C’mon, kiddo. Come all the way back. We’re at Peter’s cabin, remember?”

“Peter…” Neal squinted, and then opened his eyes fully to look at Peter. “You’re here?”

Peter stood up and moved closer. “That’s right.” He kept his voice calm and even, not only for Neal but also for Henry, who seemed on the verge of panic.

“Why didn’t you stop him, Peter? You could have stopped Vance.”

“I wish I could’ve, Neal. I’d give just about anything to be able to go back and stop him. But that was almost 16 years ago. It’s all a memory, and I can’t change it.”

“Vance wasn’t here?” Neal asked.

“Vance is dead,” Henry said. “He died in prison and he’s never going to hurt anyone again. You’re here with us now, at Peter’s cabin, remember?”

Neal nodded. “Cabin.” He yawned. “’m tired.”

“Yeah, just a sec and we’ll make up the bed.” Henry zipped across the room and with El’s help opened up the sofa into a bed. They had the sheets and blankets in place in minutes, and then Peter guided Neal over. He was asleep almost as soon as lay down.

Henry took a deep breath of relief, but he was still practically vibrating with nerves. “Ok. We’ll make up the other sofa for me and call it a night.”

“Not so fast,” said Peter. “You aren’t going to rush us out of here without telling us what had you scared about Neal falling asleep after finishing his story.”

“Sit down, Henry,” said Noelle. When he sank into the sofa beside her, she put her arm around her son. “I know there’s more to the story than Neal was able to tell us tonight, and I want to hear it from him. But Peter’s right to be concerned about you. You aren’t going to get a wink of sleep as tense as you are right now. What did you think was going to happen if we’d let Neal fall asleep without grounding him in the present day?”

“I was afraid he wouldn’t wake up.”

“Why not?” Noelle asked.

“Because by the time the ambulance reached the hospital, he was in a coma. And he didn’t wake up for 12 days.”

Noelle held Henry close, rubbing his back until he relaxed a bit. “You know he isn’t going to fall into a coma again, any more than he’s going to wake up with a broken arm. The memories are intense. I understand why you worry. I even love you for it.” She kissed his brow. “Try to get some rest, sweetheart.”

They made up the second sleeper sofa as quietly as they could, but Neal was sleeping too soundly to be woken by a little creaking. Noelle and Elizabeth headed upstairs while Peter added a couple more logs to the fire. Alone with Henry he said, “Your mom’s the expert. You should listen to her and get some sleep.”

“Mmm.” Henry stared into the fire.

“You’re planning to watch him all night anyway, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Looking up to see that the upstairs bedroom doors were closed, Henry ignored the bed that had been made up for him and sat beside Neal. He crossed his arms and looked up at Peter, silently daring him to argue.

Peter couldn’t. After that story, he also wanted someone to make sure Neal kept breathing through the night. He checked his watch. “Tell you what. I’ll come down after four hours and take a shift. That way you can tell your mom in the morning that you followed orders and got some sleep.”

It took Henry a moment to process the fact that Peter wasn’t going to object. “Uh, yeah. Ok. Thanks.”

Peter went upstairs. It was only three hours later that Neal’s screams woke everyone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Months ago I learned Silbrith is not only a great beta reader, but also an excellent location scout. In March I asked for a location for the Burke family cabin in the Catskills of upstate New York. You can find the inspiration she provided if you do a search for catskillsretreatcabin. 
> 
> My apologies to any EMTs. I'm sure it's very rare for a medic to mistakenly think a patient is dead.
> 
> For anyone who has experienced or witnessed abuse, you have my heartfelt sympathies. I don’t have first-hand experience, but friends have shared parts of their stories over the years, giving me a shred of insight. Around the time I turned 11, books about social issues were getting a lot of praise from critics, and I ended up reading several surprisingly graphic stories intended for kids about abuse. One included the death of a child, told from the perspective of her brother. The scene of her head hitting the kitchen table always stayed with me. In fact, the gory description of blood and food falling to the floor made me unable to eat spaghetti for the next year.
> 
> FYI, I used “the boy” in these scenes for two reasons. The first is to allow Neal to distance himself from distressing memories. The second is to reduce the confusion that could be caused by switching back and forth between the names Neal and Danny, which was Neal’s name in WITSEC.
> 
> Thanks everyone for hanging on for so many chapters to reach the promised repressed memories. More to come in the next chapter. It will still be intense, but not violent.


	25. Awakenings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no expertise in therapy or medicine. The scenes here are intended for dramatic effect rather than medical accuracy. This chapter includes references to end-of-life decisions and “pulling the plug.” If that’s a trigger for you, you’ll want to skip at least the second scene of this chapter.

**Burke family cabin, Catskills. Early Thursday morning. March 4, 2004.**

It wasn’t yet dawn when Peter woke to the sound of Neal screaming. He and Elizabeth left their room to see Noelle in a robe, already heading downstairs. She didn’t seem surprised or flustered, but she may have been expecting this. Before everyone had gone to bed last night she’d said Neal hadn’t shared all of his repressed memories yet. After everything they’d heard, Peter couldn’t imagine what else could have happened to Neal as a nine-year-old child.

On one of the sleeper sofas, Neal rocked back and forth, his arms wrapped around his body, saying, “No, no, no.” Henry was talking to Neal, but not getting any response. Satchmo knew better than to jump on a bed, but he watched with distress, and barked at Peter in a tone that demanded: _Do something!_

Noelle sat on the edge of the bed. “Neal. Neal, can you hear me?”

Apparently reaching his limit, Henry grabbed Neal and pushed him against the back of the sofa, putting an end to the rocking. “Neal, please!”

Noelle took one of Neal’s hands between her own. She took his pulse and then rubbed his hand as if to warm it. “Is there another blanket we can give him?” she asked.

“I’ll get it,” said Elizabeth. Peter was glad she spoke first, because he wanted to keep his eyes on Neal until he was sure the kid was ok.

The warmth of the blanket and Henry holding him still eventually seemed to relax Neal. He pushed his cousin away and rubbed his face. “What happened? Last thing I remember was talking about the EMTs taking me to the ambulance.”

“You had a nightmare,” Henry said.

Neal ran his hands through his hair. “I thought everything I went through last night was supposed to end the nightmares.”

“It will help,” said Noelle, “but you need to tell us the rest. There are still memories fighting to the surface.”

Neal looked bewildered. “But that was the end. They took Vance away and I never saw him again.”

“And they took you to a hospital. You said you passed out on the way to the ambulance. What’s the next thing you remember? It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t seem significant. Pick up the story and don’t hold back.”

“I was in a coma for 12 days. I wasn’t showing any signs of waking up, and they gave me an experimental drug.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The boy was awake, but lethargic. His eyes couldn’t focus yet. He took in blurry shapes, colors and general motions without understanding them. He heard voices, with a long lag between words being spoken and his comprehending them. Movement seemed too complex for the moment. He was grateful he could breathe without effort, although he couldn’t quite remember why.

His right arm was heavy, and eventually he realized it was in a cast. And something was wrapped tightly around his ribs.

There were two moving blurs in his room. People, he thought. They were talking.

Ellen. She had said, “The doctor said we have to give it time.”

And Mom had said, “Look at him! He can’t move or speak. His eyes aren’t even tracking. He’s a vegetable!”

And Ellen had said, “You aren’t being fair. The doctor said it will take hours for the drug to have its full effect. He’s still barely awake.”

“He’d be better off dead. We should have pulled the plug after the first week. I don’t know why I let you talk me out of it. It should have been my decision!”

“Calm down. You know very well why you let me and the doctors talk you out of it. You couldn’t go through with it.”

“We should have let him die. This is just a shell of my son. A bitter reminder. He’ll never be right again. I wish we’d pulled the plug.”

That had been a few minutes ago by the time the boy put meaning to the words. There had been more motion and the blurs were gone now. Alone, the boy felt tears fill his eyes and he didn’t bother trying to hold them back. Speech was still beyond him, but he made a mournful, keening sound.

And he was wrong. Only one of the blurs had left. The other had gone still in a corner of the room and stepped forward now. She leaned over him, and he could feel Ellen wipe away his tears, and felt her tears falling.

“Oh, sweetie.”

Neal frowned. That wasn’t what Ellen had said, and it wasn’t her voice. Who else was crying? He didn’t remember this.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry stared at Noelle, whose tears had left her too choked up to continue. He cleared his throat and repeated what she’d said every time Neal had paused in his story. “What happened next, Neal?”

As he’d gained clarity, he’d also become aware of the pain. His arm hurt. His chest hurt. There was a bandage around his head, which hurt most of all. Neal instinctively reached up and rubbed the place above and slightly ahead of his left ear, where his skull had cracked. In the current day he could feel the slight calcification where the bone had grown together again.

There in the hospital, several times he’d shuddered in pain, whimpering and looking at Ellen or a nurse or doctor with pleading in his gaze, but the answer was always the same. He’d been in something called a coma for almost two weeks and nearly hadn’t woken up. He needed to stay awake for 12 hours to be safe, and that meant no painkillers.

People gathered outside his room, more of them as time went by. He could see them staring at him whenever the door opened. Sometimes someone would ask to be let in, but would be told that they had to wait for permission from his mother.

Ellen told him stories and played games to keep him occupied and distracted from the pain. He wondered where his mother had gone, but dreaded her return because she wanted him to die.

When 12 hours had passed since he’d first come out of the coma, they gave him a tiny dose of a painkiller and he immediately drifted to sleep. It seemed only minutes later that Ellen was shaking him. He moaned but she was insistent. “Your mother’s on her way back. She needs to see you awake.” He rubbed his eyes and sat up. A nurse offered him a cup of water with a straw and he drank. He could hear his mother now, out in the hall. She was loud and belligerent and arguing with someone. Drunk. Usually she drank just enough to stay buzzed. The boy hated when she let it get this far.

His mother staggered into the room, smelling of alcohol. She stopped at the bed and stared at him. “Still alive, huh?”

He nodded.

“They say you’re going to be okeydokey. Bunch of people want to talk to you an’ said they needed my permission. I told ‘em I’d see if you were really awake.” She went back to the door. “Come on in!”

Ellen followed. “Let’s try not to overwhelm him. He just woke up from a coma. Miss Taylor, let’s start with you. And Mike, of course.”

An intimidating Asian man, Mike stood in a corner of the room and watched in silence. Miss Taylor approached the bed. She looked at the boy and then at his mother. “Ma’am, the doctors say he should be able to leave the hospital in a few days, but I can’t condone him going home with you. This is my fourth visit here, and you’ve never been sober. You aren’t fit to care for him. He’s been through a traumatic experience and he needs more stability than you can provide. I have to recommend he be placed in a foster home.”

“She’s going to rehab,” Ellen said. “She starts Monday.”

“You told me that the last time he was hospitalized, and it didn’t happen.”

“She was doing better after she split up with Vance. He’d been encouraging her to drink so she wouldn’t notice what he was doing. She’d been mostly sober until after the abduction. I promise, I’ll take her to rehab myself and make sure she stays.”

“When she’s through with the treatment, I can reevaluate and see if she’s capable of taking care of a child. In the meantime he needs foster care.”

“He needs stability,” Ellen argued. “You said so yourself. He should stay with me.”

“You aren’t family,” Miss Taylor protested. “He needs a licensed foster home.”

“I’m his aunt. On his father’s side.”

“Your last name isn’t Brooks.”

“I’m widowed. I’m his aunt. Isn’t that right, Mike?”

Mike nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve known the family for years. She’s his aunt. We can get proof if you need it.”

Miss Taylor conceded that the boy could stay with Ellen until his mother completed rehab, and warned that she would make frequent visits to Ellen’s home to ensure the child was getting the best possible care.

After the woman left, the boy’s mother said, “He’s all yours then. You got what you wanted. I’m goin’ home. Need some sleep.”

“Yes, you do,” agreed Ellen. “Make sure you take a cab. You’re in no condition to drive.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She left the room, still weaving a bit but not as unsteady as she’d been before. It was as if a burden had been lifted from her.

Ellen looked out into the hall and, “Give us a minute.” She closed the door and looked at Mike. “You make sure the Marshals provide that proof for Child Protective Services, because I promise you, I’m not letting them put him in foster care now. If you let them try, I’ll take him and run.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Parker. The last thing we want is for some foster parent to put together two and two and realize the answer is WITSEC. You’ll get our full support.” He glanced at the hall. “You ready for the next group?”

“Might as well get it over with.” Ellen sat in a chair beside the bed as Mike let two more men enter the room. She put an arm around the boy, who seemed to be drowsing. “Wake up. Just a few more minutes and then we’ll let you sleep again, ok?”

He made a small sound of discomfort as sitting up straight jarred his ribs and broken arm. But when Ellen held his left hand he stopped fidgeting in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position and looked up at the two men who had entered his room. They wore suits and held file folders. They introduced themselves and it was long and confusing. They both wanted to interview him about something, and wanted the same information and thought interviewing him together would be easier. The black man said he represented Prosecution and the blond man was from the Defense.

One of them opened a file folder and pulled out a photo of Vance. The boy gasped and leaned away. Ellen stood up and he turned his face into her.

“Do you know this man?” Prosecution asked, and the boy nodded.

“Did he hurt you?” the man asked.

The boy nodded again. Ellen ran a hand along his back in a comforting gesture, and then pushed him away a couple of inches. “He put the picture away. Will you look at him and answer his questions?”

The boy turned and faced the men again.

“Can you tell us what he did to you?” asked Defense.

The boy thought a moment. Then he held out his broken arm. He pointed to his ribs and the bandage on his head. He pushed down the blankets, with some help with Ellen, and pulled his right leg out to show the worst cut on his ankle. It had healed a lot in 12 days, but the signs of the cut were still visible.

“I’d like to take pictures of his injuries,” said Prosecution.

“I’ll take them,” said Mike, holding his hand out for the camera. “The family doesn’t want his face in any photos, to preserve his privacy. I can help you get copies of the x-rays.” Mike snapped the pictures quickly and returned the camera.

They showed the boy a map of his neighborhood, asking him to point out his school and home to prove he understood how to read it. Then they asked where he had encountered Vance on the day he was abducted, and he pointed to the greenbelt.

“Why did you get into his car?” Defense asked.

The boy shook his head.

“You were in his car, correct?”

The boy nodded and shuddered at the memory of being in Vance’s car.

“You told Mr. Nikolov you were in the trunk of the car. Is that true?”

The boy nodded.

Prosecution took over. “You remember being in the trunk?”

The boy nodded again.

“And do you remember how you got in the trunk?”

The boy shook his head and leaned back against Ellen.

“Seems pretty clear to me,” said Prosecution. “The doctor said he had signs of a concussion. Probably wasn’t conscious.”

Defense didn’t seem satisfied with that explanation. “Listen, you knew Vance for months, used to play with him in the park and he even lived at your home for a while. He was almost like family. I get that you don’t remember how you got in the car, but it seems like you might have gone willingly with someone you knew. Maybe it was getting dark and you saw him there and asked him for a ride home. Maybe you thought riding in a trunk sounded fun and you suggested it. Can you imagine that?”

The boy had a good imagination, but he couldn’t imagine that. He shook his head vigorously, then whimpered and closed his eyes at the pain in his head.

“Tell me what you remember about being in the trunk,” Defense insisted.

It had been dark and lonely and scary. There was rope and sharp and heavy things. Vance was going to hurt him and he’d never be able to go home again. The boy sobbed and held on to Ellen as hard as he could with his good arm.

“That’s enough,” said Ellen. “He’s exhausted and in a lot of pain. You need to go.”

They thanked Ellen and the boy heard them walk away. A nurse with a familiar voice walked over and pushed a button on a machine attached to an IV leading to his right hand. The pain went away and he drifted to sleep. From then on, his only visitors other than medical professionals were Ellen and Mike. He couldn’t keep track of the time very well, but it seemed to be a day or two later that he was at Ellen’s house. He stayed there for almost two months while his mother was in rehab. He’d missed the last few weeks of third grade, but was able to start fourth grade with his class in the fall. His classmates had been warned not to ask him about why he’d missed the end of the last school year. But it didn’t matter. By the time he was back in school, he’d forgotten almost all of it. Ellen had told him a bare outline of the events, leaving out Mr. Nikolov and Sasha.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal took a sip from the glass of water on the table beside the sleeper sofa. He didn’t recall who had brought the water or when.

“That first day you were awake in the hospital, did you speak at all?” Noelle asked.

Neal shook his head.

“How much time went by before you started talking again?”

He thought it over. “About six weeks, I think.”

“Did you go to any kind of therapy?”

He drank more water and then put the glass back down. “I think the art lessons were intended as a combination physical and emotional therapy. They were supposed to help me regain fine motor control in my arm and to give me a means to express myself. But I didn’t want to express what had happened to me. I wanted to forget it.”

“Can you tell me about when you started talking?”

“Yeah.” Neal sat up straighter, crossing his legs in front of him on the bed. This was venturing into more comfortable ground. “Ellen took me to an exhibit at the St. Louis Art Museum. They had a Van Gogh on loan and it fascinated me. I leaned in as close as I could to see the brush strokes, trying to figure out how he’d achieved the effects of that painting. And I asked, ‘How did he do that?’ An art professor was there and heard me. He took my hand, as if I were holding a paintbrush, and showed me the technique so that I could feel how Van Gogh had done it. I was so fascinated that I kept asking him questions for about an hour. Finally he had to leave but invited me to join his weekend art lessons for children. I attended his classes for years, and painting became one of the areas in my life where I was least inhibited.”

Henry yawned.

Neal chuckled. “Am I boring you?”

Henry stretched. “Every city we visited, you had to check out the art museums. Not really my thing, but watching you paint was kind of cool, when we could afford the supplies.”

“What time is it?” asked Neal.

“A couple of hours until dawn yet,” said Peter. “What’s next on the agenda, Noelle?”

“Sleep, I hope,” she said. “We could all use some rest.”

Neal was about to protest that his mind was too busy to let him sleep, but he was distracted by Henry picking up his guitar. Henry sat right next to Neal, letting his body heat seep into his cousin as he strummed the guitar. The strumming gradually turned into a song, and then Henry was softly singing “Nothing Else Matters.”

“Hate that song,” mumbled Neal.

“Because it always works,” Henry said in a break in the lyrics. And then he was singing again.

“Thanks,” said Neal, grateful for once that his cousin knew how to make Neal’s mind slow down and relax. He slid down onto the bed, resting his head on the pillow and closing his eyes. Back when he was a teenager, he’d quickly realized that Henry was using the song as a lullaby. He resented it, of course. What self-respecting teen would admit that he wanted or needed or a lullaby? But there was something so comforting about knowing Henry cared and worried about him enough to make an effort to send him to sleep that it almost always succeeded.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mid-morning, Elizabeth woke up, got dressed, and went downstairs. Peter had been up more than an hour ago and left for a long walk. Not surprising that he’d want exercise and fresh air to clear his head after everything they’d heard about Neal’s childhood.

Noelle was sitting at the kitchen island, holding a cup of coffee and looking sadly at Henry and Neal as they slept.

Pouring her own cup of coffee, Elizabeth thought Noelle looked like someone who needed a confidante. “You know, there are some spectacular views from a picnic area a few yards from here. You can see into the valley and catch glimpses of the lake. It’s very serene. Would you like to join me?” She smiled at Noelle. “I think you could use some serenity. And maybe a friendly ear?”

“I’ll get my coat.”

In coats and snow boots – which were kept in a variety of sizes at the cabin – El and Noelle walked in silence. The snow had been brushed off the picnic table, telling El that Peter had also spent some time in contemplation here. The women sat beside each other, taking in the view. Wanting to ease Noelle into the topic that was bothering her, El said, “I’ve never met Neal’s girlfriend, Kate. But from I’ve heard, sometimes I wonder if part of her appeal is being unavailable. He’s a romantic, in love with the idea of being in love, but not ready for the reality. She’s an ideal on a pedestal, teasing him into doing what she wants.”

“An interesting theory,” Noelle responded. “It isn’t unusual for someone his age to be drawn to an unrequited love. But we haven’t talked about his ideas on romance.”

El nodded, jumping to the topic she really wanted to bring up. “You’ll want to talk about his mother first.”

“Not exactly _want_ to,” Noelle said. Leaning forward, with her elbows on the table, she rested her chin on her hands. “I feel like I should apologize to Neal for my sister. She was frightened and overreacting. It’s hard to imagine what it must be like, with a child in a coma and being asked when you want to pull the plug. Obviously she didn’t want him to die, but it’s understandable why a child his age, hearing what he heard, would think that.”

“Obviously?” El questioned. “How can you know with that much certainty? Forgive me, but it seems pretty obvious that Neal still believes she wanted him gone. I’d think that would have affected their relationship from that point on. Wouldn’t she have corrected that perception in all of the years following if it weren’t true?”

“Assuming she knew. He repressed so much. Maybe he never let anyone see that fear.”

“You sound very invested in proving your sister innocent. I can certainly understand that. But I wonder if that’s what Neal needs. I mean, it’s like you’re taking her side, and she isn’t your patient.”

Noelle stood up and walked a few steps toward the scenic outlook. It appeared she was taking in the view, but El suspected she wasn’t seeing it. After a few minutes, Noelle turned around and said, “She’s my sister. My identical twin. We’ve always been exactly alike. I don’t have to be there with her to know what it was like, what she was going through. Of course she wanted her son to live. She needed him.”

El took a sip of coffee and asked as casually as she could, “Why do you say that?”

“You have to understand what things were like when they went into WITSEC. Her husband confessed to murder. She’d recently had a miscarriage. And on top of that she’s supposed to relocate and cut off all ties to a close family. Neal was her anchor. It’s like… It’s like when I realized my marriage was floundering. Sometimes I felt like I was going off the deep end. I wanted to deny the problems, or run away and hide from them. But Henry was my anchor. His presence reminded me that I needed to be adult and responsible. I needed to be stable to provide the stability he deserved. Having my son with me made a huge difference when I was going through that. If someone had taken him away from me, I don’t know how I would have managed. Taking care of him made me better and stronger than I thought I could be.”

“And your sister is exactly like you?”

Noelle looked taken aback. “Of course. I told you, we’re identical twins. We switched places all the time and could fool anyone.”

“So Meredith is a psychologist, too?”

Noelle smiled. “No. I knew for years that psychology was my path. My sister bounced around from college to culinary school and then to business classes when she found her place at a catering company, cooking and eventually helping manage the business. Nothing made her as happy as preparing and serving an elaborate meal. I’m a good cook, but preparing Thanksgiving dinner for 30 people is never going to be my idea of fun.”

“So you aren’t exactly alike. In fact, your differences sound big enough that I have to question your assumption that your sister would react to WITSEC the same way you reacted to your divorce.”

There was a silence for a while. Eventually Noelle sat beside Elizabeth again. “A basic tenet of therapy is that it’s a bad idea to treat people who are close to you. You tend to assume you know their situations and issues, rather than asking what they need. When the Marshals recommended Meredith to go into WITSEC, she asked my advice. But I never asked about her fears or concerns. I thought I already knew. And that may have led her to believe that any issues outside what I expected weren’t valid, or were shameful in some way.” Noelle shook her head. “I was so arrogant back then. Everyone from my professors to the leaders of Win-Win and my parents were telling me I was an incredibly talented psychologist. I never questioned that I was right in my advice to my sister. What have I done?”

“I don’t know. Tell me.”

“I knew in her situation, I would have needed Henry with me. As I said, my son has been my anchor. But perhaps Meredith…” She paused and drank her coffee. “She was always more of a free spirit than I was. With her life falling apart, perhaps she didn’t want an anchor. And if that’s true, she may have considered Neal a burden. I thought… I thought I was helping her, helping both of them, by insisting he go into WITSEC with her. I argued vehemently against my brother taking Neal with his family to the Air Force base where he was deployed in the South Pacific. And I swear she never… I never saw any signs of a drinking problem before she went into WITSEC. I never would have sent a child into… Would never have subjected Neal to…” She took a ragged breath.

“I know.” El reached over and put an arm around Noelle. “Don’t hold back. You know you need to let it out.” And Noelle sobbed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Rip Van Winkle was set near where this chapter takes place. That was a story of a man who slept for many years and on awakening had to adjust to a new reality. In this chapter, Neal describes awakening from a coma and his memories of that time are also awakening. Meanwhile, Noelle is awakened from a little self-delusion, too. I’ve put Noelle through a lot, forcing her to remain professional and detached while dealing with family issues, and I was glad for a chance for her to break free from that restraint with Elizabeth.
> 
> I hope everyone observing Labor Day enjoys the holiday. My amazing beta Silbrith and I are both taking advantage of the long weekend for writing activities – bliss! Next week’s chapter will give the characters a chance to relax and play in the snow, and the week after that we’ll get some focus again on the father/son relationship between Peter and Neal.


	26. Sugar Rush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two chapters were difficult ones for the characters and for those of us who love them. This one gives us a sweet little reprieve before diving back into more serious matters.

**Burke family cabin, Catskills. Thursday morning. March 4, 2004.**

Peter had taken a long walk through the woods, during which he considered everything Neal had shared last night about his childhood trauma. He’d known it would be bad. You didn’t end up with repressed memories and flashbacks unless things were bad. As Neal was jumping between present day and 16 years ago, he’d asked why Peter hadn’t stopped Vance. It was hard, as a law enforcement officer, to admit he was helpless to do anything to help now. The violence had occurred long ago and the perpetrator was dead.

It was also hard to admit that he didn’t know what to say to Neal now. Should he bring it up, or avoid the subject? It didn’t help that on his way back to the cabin he’d heard Noelle crying. If she was that shaken, what hope did he have?

Pausing on the front porch to brush the snow off his boots, Peter looked in the cabin windows to see the cousins were in the kitchen. They were eating cinnamon rolls, frosted cereal, and chocolate milk. They were like kids on a Saturday morning, heading into a serious sugar rush. For a moment he was surprised Henry was letting Neal do this, and almost barged in to tell them to eat something healthy. But as he studied Neal’s expression, he changed his mind. The kid deserved a break, a chance to take time for some innocent fun.

A few minutes later, Peter opened the door. “Come on, you guys.” He held a snow shovel in each hand. “There’s work to do. We got a couple inches of snow last night, on top of what was already here.”

They complained as he told them to shovel in front of a storage area. He told them they had to move enough snow that the double doors could swing open. But they worked together well and made quick progress, even with Satchmo getting in their way. Peter kept his expression stern whenever they looked in his direction. He’d learned this routine from his oldest brother Joe, who had a couple of daughters in college now. The girls had complained bitterly the first time Joe put them through this, but eventually it had become a favorite part of winter stays in the cabin.

“Ok,” said Neal, standing up straight. “The path’s clear. Can we go back inside now?”

“Not so fast,” Peter said. He tossed a set of keys to Neal. “Show me the doors will open.”

The cousins had to put their backs into it, because the old door frame had warped over the years, but finally the doors swung open. Henry was the first to make sense of what they were seeing in the shed. “Wow.”

“Thanks for the help,” said Peter. “That’s all I needed. You can go back to the cabin now.” He walked inside and picked up a sled.

“Not a chance.” Henry laughed and grabbed another sled. “C’mon, Neal. You’re going to love this.”

Peter gave directions to the best sledding hill. Seeing they were about to run ahead he warned, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“What does that mean?” Henry asked.

Neal shrugged. “He always says that.”

“Well now I want to do something stupid,” Henry grumbled. “Let me know if you have any ideas.” With that, the cousins flashed matching grins in Peter’s direction and ran ahead. The Labrador bounded behind them.

Peter joined them for a few runs down the hill, pleased to hear Neal laughing. Back at the top of the hill, he looked down to see Henry had initiated a snowball fight, and Neal was ducking for cover to make his own snowballs.

“He’s happy,” said Noelle.

Peter looked over to see Noelle and El walking in his direction.

“It’s surprising sometimes,” Noelle continued, “what people can endure. After what we heard last night it’s hard to imagine Neal laughing, but he needs this. I’m glad you thought of it.”

“How did you know it was my idea?”

El took his arm. “When we saw the area in front of the shed had been shoveled, I remembered Joe’s old trick. He played it on me the first time I stayed here.” She smiled up at Peter. “And I remember there you were, shoveling with me and complaining the whole time about how bossy he was.”

He smiled back, basking in those memories.

El leaned against him, watching the snowball fight. “How on earth do they have so much energy?”

“Wait till you go back inside and see what they had for breakfast.” Peter glanced sidelong at Noelle, glad she wasn’t crying anymore. “Noelle, do you mind if I ask a few questions?”

“That’s fine. What do you want to know?”

“This whole father figure thing is new to me, and I… I wonder how parents can see their kids hurt and not go crazy. What am I supposed to do for Neal, when what happened to him was so long ago? And am I supposed to let him see how concerned and worried I am, or should I hide that and be strong and in control so he knows he can lean on me?”

“There’s a question for the ages. I’d say it’s good for him to see that you think it’s ok to express his feelings and yours. It’s important to be honest. Don’t hide your feelings, but don’t exaggerate them either, or pretend to feel something you don’t simply because you think it’s how you should feel.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“Ok, I surrender.” Neal laughed as Henry let him sit up again. The sneak attack from behind had been effective. He brushed snow off his coat and leaned against a tree. Satchmo seemed determined to lick his face, but finally subsided to sit beside him. “I’d like to paint this.”

“We brought along some of your supplies,” Henry said, “but how do you paint in this weather? Wouldn’t your fingers freeze?”

“It helps to have a good memory. Anyway, it isn’t the scenery I want to capture. It’s the feeling.” He looked at Henry’s expression and grinned. “Yeah, I know abstracts aren’t your thing.”

“Hmm.” Henry seemed miles away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ve been distracted recently, but I’m not stupid. I can tell you’re worried about something. What is it?”

Henry flopped down on the snow, hands behind his head, ankles crossed, and looked up at the sky. He was the picture of relaxation, but it was an act. He remained silent for a while, and finally said, “I think Robert’s trying to get me fired.”

Neal snorted. “Yeah, like Graham’s going to let that happen. Your grandfather’s got your back.”

“I don’t want him fighting my battles. If I’m supposed to take over Win-Win, I need to handle this.”

“You’ve decided you want to stay with them?”

“Maybe. Whether I stay or not, I can’t let Robert take over. I’ve got a really bad feeling about what he has planned.”

Neal studied Henry a moment and said, “That’s not all that’s bothering you.”

Henry met Neal’s eyes. “You left some stuff out last night. You didn’t mention the Hospital Game. You told me you started playing it when you were nine.”

Neal thought back, and pieced together more memories. “Right. It was when I went back to get the cast removed. They told me they had a surprise for me. Turned out my mom got a day pass from the rehab center and was there at the hospital to see me. It was ok at first. I mean, she was sober and supportive and everything. By then I’d suppressed most of the memories and I was even happy to see her. But the longer she was there, the more I started to feel panicked. Eventually I slipped away to hide. Ellen found me and made a joke out of it, saying I loved playing hide-and-seek. But I could tell from Mom’s expression that she knew I was running away from her.”

“And the next time you played it was in Chicago, when a doctor at the hospital there reminded you of your mom.”

“I turned it into a game, after that. Instead of running away from Mom, I was just hiding from you. It went from fear to fun.”

“But we’re not in a hospital this time.”

“Huh?”

“You think I can’t tell you’re considering running?”

Neal wanted to deny it, but Henry was right. “I’m a good con artist. Better than you.”

“Barely.”

“I can disappear into a role and fool anyone.”

Henry thought that one over a moment. “Even yourself. You think you can move into an identity that wasn’t abused as a child and just forget what happened to you?”

“Could be worth a shot.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Peter.

Henry sat up, leaning on one elbow to look at the man who had snuck up on them. Neal stopped leaning against the tree and straightened his posture. “Peter, you don’t understand.”

Peter sat on one of the sleds. Satchmo trotted over to have his ears scratched. “I think I understand well enough. Neal, you have to promise me that if you start to think things are so bad you have to run, you’ll talk to me first. Or to Henry, if you really think I won’t get it. But you have to give one of us a chance to help.”

Neal leaned back again. “That sounds great out here, in the middle of nowhere. You’ll feel different when we’re back in Manhattan. Now that you know…”

“Know what?” Peter prompted.

“Everything. I’m damaged, Peter. I’m seriously messed up. When you think it through, you aren’t going to want me working at the FBI. As long as I have to leave, I might as well make a fresh start. I could -”

“Whoa,” said Peter. “No one said anything about you leaving the Bureau. The whole point of sending you into therapy was that you could stay. It’s a little early to give up, don’t you think?”

“But -”

“It’s a simple yes-no question, Neal. I’m asking you to commit to continuing therapy instead of running away. Are you going to give up?”

Neal stared at him a moment before saying, “No.”

“You’re really not used to having someone lay down the law.” Peter studied Neal and then said, “After what you went through as a kid, your mom and Ellen let you get away with anything, didn’t they?”

Neal considered that. He had been given a lot of leeway, compared to his friends. “Maybe.”

Peter stood up. “Almost time for lunch. Let’s put these sleds away.”

Several times on the way back to cabin, Neal looked at Henry, almost asked something, and then changed his mind. As they approached the porch, Henry lagged behind. Peter and Satchmo went inside, while Henry dropped into an Adirondack chair and said, “Here’s your chance. Whatever it is, say it.” Henry made a show of pulling off his snow boots and knocking off the snow, in case anyone looked out the windows to wonder what they were up to.

Neal sat on a matching chair and pulled off his boots. “What do you remember about my mom?”

“I was only five years old the last time I saw her.”

“Nearly six. I can’t ask Noelle, not now. She’s too upset about what I said last night. If I ask for her perspective, she’ll probably want to defend Mom. I just… I want to know what she was like before WITSEC, before she started drinking.”

Henry took a deep breath. “I remember being confused when people couldn’t tell our moms apart. I always knew which one was my mom, and they seemed different to me. They both sang and played the piano. All the Caffreys did that. But different things made them sing. My mom sang to me or Dad. She’d wake me up or say hello with a song, and she chose pop songs. Your mom sang when she was cooking or planning a meal, and she went for stuff in other languages. They spent a lot of time overseas as kids, you know, when the Ambassador was moving up in the diplomatic corps. They learned languages on their travels, but your mom picked them up the fastest. From what I’ve heard, I think she and David had more wanderlust and enjoyed moving around, and my mom was more of a homebody. At the times I met her, I wasn’t all that interested in Meredith. I was aware of her as your mom, someone on the periphery when we were playing. The main thing I remember was the food. My mom can cook, but yours turned it into an art. Any time we went to your house, there would be lots of food to pick from. Those visits were among the few times at that age when I was willing to try new foods without making a big fuss.” Henry gazed into the distance, delving into old memories.

“Anything else?”

“Not about your mom. I remember our dads had a lot to talk about, both being cops at the time, but looking back I can see they weren’t exactly friendly.”

“Any idea why they didn’t get along?” Neal asked.

Henry looked embarrassed, which was rare in Neal’s experience. “It’s not important. Maybe we should go back inside.”

“You know I’m not going to give up. I’ll pry it out of you eventually. You might as well tell me.”

Henry closed his eyes. “Money. The Winslows were loaded, and the Bennetts weren’t. We had a big house especially considering Dad was bringing in a cop’s salary, and your folks had a tiny place by comparison. Over the years I realized my parents accepted money from my Winslow grandparents, mostly under the guise of dividends from family ownership of Win-Win. Your parents wouldn’t accept money from our Caffrey grandparents.” He faced Neal. “Your dad was jealous, and mine wasn’t exactly gracious.”

Neal hadn’t expected that. “D’you think, if we hadn’t gone into WITSEC, I would have been jealous of you?”

Henry stood up and offered his hand, pulling Neal to his feet. “C’mon. I’m older, wiser and better looking. If you aren’t jealous of me already, why would money have made a difference?”

Conversation remained lighthearted through lunch. They joked about Peter taking them by surprise with the sleds, and laughed about the snowball fight. El talked about Peter playing hockey and being a great ice skater, while she could barely stay upright in skates. Noelle mentioned that she loved to ski. The talk of winter activities somehow led to a challenge to build the best snowman, with the competition taking place behind the cabin right after lunch.

They had barely gotten started on the snowmen when the weather took a turn for the worse. They ran inside to escape the sleet, and built up the fire. Soon the electricity went out, but Peter started up the propane generator. By mid-afternoon, Neal had an easel set up in front of the main windows, capturing the icy scene in soft acrylic colors. Everyone else had gathered in front of the fireplace.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sitting on one of the sofas beside the fireplace, Peter looked around the cabin with pleasure. Neal was painting, Henry was savoring a cup of hot chocolate that was at least 50% marshmallow, El was leaning beside him with her cup of tea, and Noelle looked thoughtful. Henry seemed to notice her expression and asked, “What is it?”

Noelle looked at Peter a moment, and then back at her son. “I wondered if your being like a brother to Neal, and Peter being like a father to him makes Peter a father figure to you, too.”

Henry glanced at Peter with a surprised expression, and then gazed into the fire as he thought it over. Finally he nodded. “Possibly. But Neal is the baby of the family. He’s everyone’s favorite.”

Peter experienced a moment of panic. Feeling like a father to one trouble-prone young man had been overwhelming. Now he had somehow collected another son?

Neal had seemed so absorbed in his painting that Peter didn’t think he heard the conversation, but he said, “Wait. Does that mean Henry is jealous of me?”

Henry had opened his mouth for what was likely a sarcastic response, but he remained silent when Noelle put a firm hand on his shoulder. Instead Noelle said in the calm tones of a therapist, “Is that surprising?”

“Well, yeah.” Neal kept painting. Peter guessed that Noelle was reaching a part of the kid’s mind that normally stayed in the background, but was currently answering the questions while the more creative, defensive part of his mind was still absorbed in art. “I’m the one who’s jealous. Henry grew up knowing who he really was, with two parents, awesome grandparents, and was pretty much doted on. We’ve got identical twins for moms. You clearly love him. My mom wanted me dead. Makes me wonder. Was it just bad luck, or did I do something wrong?” A moment later the rest of his brain seemed to catch up. He put down the brush and ran his hands through his hair.

Noelle stood up and walked to him. “Neal, these are exactly the questions I expected you to start asking now that your memories have returned. It’s common for victims of abuse to wonder if they did something to deserve it. It wasn’t your fault, but it’s going to take some time for you to accept that. Will you come upstairs with me for another session? We should talk this through while it’s pressing on your mind.”

Neal looked at her, indecision in his expression. “You don’t hate me for the things I said about Mom last night?”

“No, Neal. I still love you. And that introduces a host of other issues as your therapist that we’ll deal with later.”

With Neal and Noelle upstairs, Peter focused his attention on Henry and asked, “What have you learned about Win-Win’s source of Flashback and this Mr. Hyde character?”

Henry shook his head. “I can’t share that information with the FBI.”

“You’re under contract with the FBI as a consultant on this case.”

“I’ll have to check with Allen Winston, but I think an internal Win-Win investigation is exempt from our contract.”

“I can’t believe you’re pulling this jurisdictional crap. This is about someone trying to kill Neal. Stop playing games and tell me what you’ve learned, or so help me I’ll…” Peter trailed off as he took in Henry’s expression.

The kid was radiating innocence, but his eyes were full of mischief. “You gonna tell my mom I’m misbehaving?”

“I should,” Peter said.

Henry grinned. “She’s right. You’re really getting into Dad mode.” He relaxed into the sofa, letting his head rest on the back so that he was looking up at the ceiling. “All I’ve got so far are dead ends. This Hyde guy knows what he’s doing.”

“When you did that research on Flashback a year ago, did you get a sample of the drug?”

“The manufacturer offered it, but I turned it down. I wasn’t doing clinical research. It was more a compilation of others’ research results and a recommendation of whether or not we should invest. I see where you’re going, Peter, but a sample wouldn’t have been enough for what Highbury was doing. They needed a steady supply.”

“It crossed my mind at one point that you might have been behind things, trying to get Neal to take the drug to make him face his memories, but there were too many holes in that theory.”

“Yeah, if you seriously thought I’d try to kill Neal, you’d turn my whole world upside down. I’d probably need therapy, too.”

“You ever had therapy?”

Henry shook his head. “They did a psych assessment when I joined Win-Win. I was boringly normal and well adjusted.”

But that had been over a year ago. Peter couldn’t help noticing Henry was making a show today of being relaxed. Beneath that show, tension lurked, and Peter wondered if there was more to it than worry about Neal. Before Peter could decide how to broach the subject, he heard a vehicle on the road leading to the cabin. The sleet that brought down the power lines had also taken down the telephone landlines, and cell coverage was nonexistent this far from any towns. That meant it was probably one of the local Burke family members checking up on them. Walking over to the window, he could see a familiar red truck pulling up. “Joe’s here,” he told Elizabeth.

“Is it still sleeting?” she asked as she stood up.

“It’s slowed down, but yeah, it’s still accumulating.” Peter opened the door as his brother ran up to the porch. “Get in here,” he said, closing the door as soon as Joe was inside.

“Thanks,” said Joe. “We thought someone should come up and check on you city slickers. I’ve got an extra propane tank in the back of the truck.”

“That can wait,” Elizabeth said. “Take off your coat and give me a hug.” When she stepped out of the hug she insisted Joe sit down. “Coffee, tea? We may have some hot chocolate left.”

“Coffee would be great. Thanks, El.” Joe settled into the chair facing the fireplace. “We were pretty sure the cabin was stocked to keep you through the storm, but Mom was going to fret if we didn’t double check. I brought along some supplies, mostly pantry stuff.”

“I hope you plan on staying here tonight,” Peter said, as El brought each of them a cup of coffee. “The sun will be going down too soon for you to make it home, and no one should be driving in this weather in the dark.” After Elizabeth settled beside Peter he said, “Henry, you’ve probably guessed by now this is my brother, Joe Burke. Joe, Henry Winslow is one of our guests. The others are upstairs.”

Henry stood and reached over to shake Joe’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I can bring in those supplies while you catch up.”

Peter nodded, and Joe handed over the keys to the truck. “Couple of boxes behind the driver’s seat. You probably want to make two trips.”

Soon Henry was bundled up and outside. Joe took the opportunity to be nosy. “When you called to ask if the cabin was free, you didn’t say why you suddenly wanted to use it. I think half the reason Mom insisted on me coming up here was so I could tell her what finally dragged you away from the city.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “We were up here for Thanksgiving. You’d think we haven’t visited for years.”

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “My mom’s the same way. We’re here to help out a member of Peter’s team. Neal was…” She paused. “Have you told Joe about Neal?”

“No.” In December Peter had called his father for advice in dealing with a young man who had started to think of Peter as a father figure, but he hadn’t mentioned the scenario to anyone else in the family. “I hardly even know how to describe him. Brilliant, creative, mischievous. I recruited him to keep him out of a life of crime, and because he’s… he’s like the kid El and I would have had if we’d gone that route and if we were older. A week ago we sent him undercover in an op and he almost died. The hospital released him over the weekend, but the things that happened to him…”

“Too bad to talk about?” Joe asked. “Or is this one of those FBI need-to-know things?”

“Some of each,” Peter said. “He needed to get away, and this place seemed to fit the bill. He’s upstairs now talking to a therapist, Noelle Winslow. She’s Henry’s mom, and Neal’s aunt. She terrifies all of us.”

“Peter!” El admonished. “She’s a lovely woman, very kind hearted. And very well suited to keeping Henry and Neal on their toes. Speaking of which,” she nodded toward the front porch. “I think Henry’s bringing up the second box now.”

Peter opened the door for Henry and then picked up the first box, which Henry had left on the porch.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal followed Noelle back downstairs, he was surprised to see a stranger talking to Peter. The man looked a lot like Peter, maybe ten years older. Peter introduced the newcomer as his brother Joe, who had come to check on them and replenish their supplies. Joe would be staying the night, apparently, and then heading out again in the morning.

They had hamburgers, and once again Neal was too absorbed in his own thoughts to contribute much to the dinner conversation. Everything Noelle had said in their session about the abuse being Vance’s fault made sense logically. But there was still a part of Neal that felt tainted and unworthy. The idea of escaping into another identity had crossed his mind again. Even if he couldn’t escape his memories, he could at least do everyone a favor by taking the ugliness away.

Noelle had insisted that running away wasn’t the answer, and Peter had said much the same thing this morning, making Neal promise to keep going to therapy. Peter had sounded more like a Dad than ever, and maybe it was selfish, but Neal didn’t want to give that up. So he’d keep his promise and stay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week’s chapter delves deeper into the father/son relationship between Peter and Neal. The next two chapters will be set mostly at the cabin, and then in chapter 29 we’ll be back in Manhattan again for Neal’s birthday party.
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for continuing to act as beta reader, and for brainstorming a plotline for Joe Burke to play out over several stories. With so much of Neal’s family being introduced in this AU, I wanted to bring in at least one member of Peter’s family. Joe has kids near Neal’s age and can offer Peter some advice.


	27. Beautiful Lie

**Burke family cabin, Catskills. Thursday evening. March 4, 2004.**

For the second evening in a row, Neal looked up from his plate to notice Elizabeth picking up the dishes. It occurred to him that he was going to have an uphill battle convincing Peter he was ready to go back to work next week, and constantly being lost in his own head wasn’t going to help. He needed to start getting more engaged in the world around him. He slid off his chair with more energy than he’d shown since the snowball fight and said, “Here, let me help.”

“Maybe you should take it easy,” Peter said, standing up.

It took an effort not to sigh. “Peter, I want to be useful. Besides, everyone knows chicks like guys who know their way around the kitchen.” Neal couldn’t help smiling as Henry snorted in an attempt to suppress a laugh. He was quoting something Henry had said years ago, and that he had probably not expected to hear repeated in front of his mother.

Peter sat back down. “I’m married. I don’t need advice on how to come on to women.”

Neal picked up plates with the grace and speed he’d learned as a cat burglar. “I beg to differ. Men with hot wives need to stay in practice if they want to stay married.”

Peter shook his head. “Listen, kid. My marriage is based on love. We don’t have to do anything to prove it, or to make it last. Right, El?”

“Well…” El stepped over to kiss her husband. “My love isn’t going to run out if you don’t meet some quota of housework, but I do think Neal has a point. A little wooing goes a long way.”

Peter stood up again and took a plate away from Neal. “Back off,” he said, with a scowl on his face but a twinkle in his eyes. “She’s mine.”

El fanned herself. “My, it’s getting hot in here.”

Neal patted Peter on the arm. “Told you.” He walked out into the spacious family room to study the painting he’d been working on earlier. At the center were warm, glowing colors, inspired by the happy morning he’d spent outdoors. Surrounding and over that center was a transparent layer of pale blue, inspired by the sleet and ice of the afternoon. There were cracks and sharp edges in that layer, signifying the fragility of this morning’s experience. Such perfect happiness couldn’t last long.

“I don’t like it,” said Henry. He didn’t know much about art, but he had a knack for picking up on the emotion being conveyed in a piece. Especially when Neal was the artist.

“I didn’t think you would,” Neal responded. “It wasn’t meant to make you happy. It’s expressing loss.”

“You’re an artist?” Joe asked, walking over from the kitchen. “I thought you worked for Peter.”

Neal shrugged. “This…” He gestured toward the painting. “This is a hobby.”

“That’s pretty advanced stuff for a hobby,” Joe said.

Noelle joined them. “Are you an artist, Joe?”

“No, I’m an architect. I can draw well enough to provide renderings to help clients envision what I propose to build. You learn a few things about perspective and colors in my job, and I’ve worked on a few art galleries over the years, picked up some things about how to display art. There’s a niche in design for art museums, galleries and artists’ lofts and studios. It wasn’t something I could focus on full time, since I was a single parent and most of those jobs required extensive travel. Now that my youngest is in college, I’m free to travel more and that gives me the opportunity to specialize. I’ve wrapped up a project in DC, and I’m looking at some opportunities in Boston and Baltimore, next.”

“We live in Baltimore,” Henry said. “It’s a great place.”

Noelle nodded. “Since learning about Neal’s talents a few weeks ago, I’ve wanted to get more involved in the arts community. I’d love to hear about your projects.”

“Sure. I’ve got some sketches in the truck. Remind me tomorrow morning and I can show them to you before I head out.”

“Oh, you’re only staying one night?” Noelle sounded disappointed.

“Just stopped by to make sure Peter was doing ok. Speaking of which…” He paused. “Neal, Peter said something about keeping you out of a life of crime. Can you tell me what he meant by that?”

“Joe!” protested Peter, who had joined the group with Elizabeth. “I think Neal’s been through enough.”

“I’m not judging,” Joe said calmly. “But you can’t drop a comment like that and not expect me to have questions. I want to understand. I know I’m not a hotshot FBI agent like you, but there is still the remote possibility that I could help if I’m at least aware of what’s going on in your life.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter’s first instinct was to defend Neal. But then he reconsidered. Jumping to Neal’s defense could give the impression that he thought Neal was still a criminal. He didn’t want Joe to think that, and he certainly didn’t want Neal to think that Peter was ashamed of him.

“The best person to describe what Neal has done and why he made a change is Neal.” Peter met his consultant’s eyes. “Do you want to take this one? I have to admit I’d like to hear your take on it.”

“Sure. Let’s get that fire roaring again and settle in for a story.”

El made coffee while Peter and Henry stoked the fire. Then Peter sat in the center of one of the sofas, with El and Joe on either side. Neal sat opposite Peter, with Henry and Noelle flanking him.

At first Neal looked down at the floor, apparently gathering his thoughts. Then he looked up and smiled. But this wasn’t the carefree con artist smile that Peter had worried Neal might fall back on. It was a smile tinged with sadness and regret. It was an honest smile. “I made some poor choices, desperate choices sometimes. I’m not good at asking for help. As a kid I didn’t even realize that help was out there.”

 _The Marshals_ , Peter thought. If they had been aware of how Neal’s mother was struggling, they probably would have intervened. But Neal hadn’t known they were in WITSEC, and had too much pride and self-reliance to admit he needed help. Hopefully the circumstances of this week had offered a breakthrough in that regard.

“For a long time I told myself that I was only doing what I had to do to survive. Then it seemed like a Robin Hood thing. Exploiting the rich and powerful in order to get by and to help others who were trying to get by.”

“I had a hand in that,” Henry admitted. “I may have been rebelling against my own privileged background and took Neal along for the ride. And then my dad hung Neal out to dry.” He turned to Neal, “And of course you couldn’t tell me what was going on. It took me months to figure it out, and by then you were in the wind.”

“He was your dad. Not having any contact with my own dad had hurt. I didn’t want to get between you and your father. I even understood why he did it. He thought he was protecting you.”

Henry shook his head. “That’s what he wanted you to believe. If he was protecting anything, it was his career. I was just a means to an end.”

Neal leaned back into the sofa and faced Joe. “At that point I was almost 22. I had sold out my artistic and creative talents to show off, forging bonds that put me on the FBI’s radar. I thought I had nothing to lose. I went from a con artist who occasionally did forgery, to a forger with a knack for breaking and entering. Once you forge a masterpiece, often the next step is to steal the original and sell it on the black market. I studied with a master safecracker and an expert cat burglar. I thought of it as getting my bachelor’s degree in crime. It was addictive; I was very good at it, and I was having fun. I spent a lot of time in Europe. But I’d discovered that New York felt like home. I kept finding reasons to come back, and eventually stayed for a long con. When that fell apart I took some jobs in Europe again, but my heart wasn’t in it. I wanted to be back in New York. The problem with returning to the States was the FBI had this hotshot agent on my case. I studied him. Up to then I’d found that most law enforcement agents had a weakness I could exploit. But not Peter. His sheer dedication, stubbornness and… _goodness_ were exasperating and fascinating. He was everything my mom claimed my dad was, when she was spinning fantasies about him being a hero cop.”

El pulled Peter’s arm around her. “Dedicated, stubborn and good. That’s my husband to a T.” Peter was almost certain he wasn’t blushing.

“It was a last-minute job and a cold that were my downfall. A friend asked me to take his place in a small museum heist in St. Louis. Much lower stakes than what I was used to, but the leader of the crew was a legend and I wanted to meet him. At the time I thought I was embarking on my master’s degree in crime. But after I agreed to the job, I learned that some run-ins with the FBI had left this guy paranoid and homicidal whenever he suspected betrayal. Meanwhile I had a nasty virus. Between that and the meds I’d taken, I wasn’t on top of my game. When I saw Peter at the meet, working undercover, I… I didn’t think it was worth the risk.”

“You thought Villiers was going to kill me,” Peter added.

“I hope that didn’t insult you. Villiers was already so angry when I showed up, I figured that you and I as the people he knew the least would be the ones he decided were out to get him. I didn’t know if you had the skills to keep your cover intact against his rage. I did know I was an expert at running away, so I went in with a getaway plan, and made sure his wrath was directed at me.”

Peter nodded and turned to his brother. “Then he helped me catch Villiers, started calling me _Dad_ as a joke, and was running a fever so high that I had to look after him for a few days until he was well enough to travel back to New York.”

Joe considered this, and asked Neal, “Whose idea was it for you to start working at the FBI?”

“It was Peter’s idea. I never would have believed it was an option. I mean, my dad was a dirty cop. He murdered someone. When I learned the truth about him, I gave up any dreams I had of being a cop myself. It still seems unlikely, even now. I mean, I’m grateful,” Neal told Peter. “I’m giving it everything I have so I won’t let you down, but I keep thinking someone will learn about my dad and it will all be over.”

“Why should that make a difference?” El voiced the question in the back of Peter’s mind. “You’re not saying you had anything to do with the murder, are you?”

“Of course he isn’t,” Henry said. “He was barely three years old when it happened.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m the son of a murderer. It’s in my blood.”

Almost everyone protested, including Peter. Looking over at Joe, Peter was surprised to see his brother’s attention on him, rather than on Neal. He realized that Joe wouldn’t only be concerned about Neal as an honorary member of the family, but also about Peter’s readiness to act as a father figure. He decided to make a bold move. “I’m in your blood,” he said.

“What?” Neal sounded startled.

“We have the same blood type: A negative. You don’t remember much of the first 24 hours you spent at Jacobi hospital, do you?”

Neal shook his head, still appearing puzzled.

“There was so much Flashback in your system, the drug almost killed you. The doctors were desperate to counter the effects, and one of the things they tried was a transfusion. Replace tainted blood with fresh, you see? That means my blood is in you. My traits fighting with your father’s traits. My money is on my blood. It’s newer, stronger if you will.”

Neal frowned. “I don’t think it works like that. Traits dueling in the blood… That doesn’t make sense.”

Peter crossed his arms. “You seriously believe your father’s traits control you, but that mine wouldn’t fight those traits?”

“But it’s just a saying – _in my blood_ – it’s genetics.”

“You’re a genetics expert, now?”

“No, but…” Neal looked at Henry. “We studied this, when you got your master's. Nature versus nurture. Inherited traits and tendencies.”

“We did,” Henry confirmed. “And you know that there is no evidence that you are predestined to be a criminal – or evil – because your father made a mistake. You have a big say in who you become. I’ve never seen murderous tendencies in you. C’mon, Neal. You hate violence.”

“Was it violent?” Neal asked. “No one told me who he killed or how.”

“You never looked it up?” Noelle asked. “It would have been in the news reports, in the public record.”

“I didn’t want to face it,” Neal admitted. “Reading about it would have made it seem more real. But this trip seems to be all about facing ghosts.”

Noelle took a deep breath. “He got involved with the Irish mob, and ended up shooting another cop.”

“Whoa,” said Joe. “I’m surprised you’re not in Witness Protection.”

Noelle raised a brow. “I hope you don’t take offense, but that’s not something we discuss outside the family.”

Neal glanced at Henry, who had remained silent. He looked almost as puzzled as Neal did. “I don’t remember…” Henry started, but then shook his head. “I was a wreck until you finally woke up at Jacobi. I probably missed a lot.”

After a moment of contemplation, Neal looked up at Peter. “Nice bluff. There wasn’t a transfusion, was there? You were lying to make your point.”

Henry’s expression cleared. “Not just a lie. A beautiful lie.” He smiled. “When I was a kid, I asked Mom about the lies parents tell. Like letting us believe in Santa Claus.”

“Or trying to spare you some of the pain of a divorce,” Noelle added. “I used the term _beautiful lie_ to describe the lies we tell to protect someone we love. I didn’t realize you remembered that. Honestly, you were so upset that day, when you realized I’d filed for divorce and why, I doubted that anything I said sunk in.”

“It did. I thought about it a lot. Sometimes I think that’s what made me decide to study psychology.”

Peter glanced at Joe, who was watching Neal, Henry and Noelle. Joe nodded and said softly so that only Peter could hear, “Nice job. I couldn’t have done it better myself.” Then he stood up and said for all to hear, “It’s been a long day. I’m going to turn in.”

“You’ll have the third bedroom,” El said. “I’ll make up the bed while you bring up your bag.”

“Thanks, El.” The others stood up, and Joe stopped beside Neal. He shook Neal’s hand. “Welcome to the family.”

As Joe walked away, Neal turned to Peter, shocked. Peter walked over to put a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “Son,” he said.

Neal waited a moment, then cocked his head. “What?”

“That’s it.”

“I mean, what do you want me to do? You always… You’ve only called me that when there’s something you needed to convince me to do.”

“I know,” said Peter. “And that’s not how it’s supposed to work. That’s why I’m saying it now. I want you to know I feel that way, independent of wanting something from you.” He pulled Neal into a quick hug and said goodnight.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Over breakfast, Joe shared some of his proposals for projects in Baltimore, tied to a downtown revitalization project. He started out sitting on a sofa beside Noelle, paging through a portfolio and quietly discussing the buildings. But then he called Neal over, asking his opinion from the perspective of an artist. Before heading back home, Joe got Noelle’s phone number and promised to call when he was in Baltimore again. Neal didn’t give it much thought until Joe had left and Elizabeth said, “So, Noelle. You and Joe, hmm?”

“Oh. It isn’t like that. I mean… Really, Elizabeth, he must be five years younger than me.”

Neal looked up from the game of chess he’d been playing with Henry. He’d never heard Noelle sound so flustered. Henry was also watching his mother.

“That’s hardly anything,” Elizabeth insisted. “And I’ve never heard him so determined to get a woman’s phone number unless she was a potential client. Isn’t that right, Peter?”

Peter looked up from a book he was reading. “The fact is, Joe’s been divorced about 12 years now and he’s always been very reluctant to date again. He didn’t want to do anything to disrupt his daughters’ lives or their relationship with their mother. I’m glad to see he hasn’t completely forgotten how to get a woman’s phone number.”

Neal returned his attention to the chess board. A few minutes later, as Henry had a piece in hand to make his next move, Noelle said, “You mentioned something about an affair?”

Henry put the piece back where it had been on the board to follow the conversation.

Peter cleared his throat. “Yeah, his wife was meeting a guy here in this cabin, in fact.”

“Oh. So Joe didn’t…?”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “The Burke men are as faithful as the day is long.”

Henry had been listening with a very serious expression, but Elizabeth’s comment seemed to assuage his concerns. He grinned and said, “So Peter, if my mom marries your brother does that make you my uncle?”

Peter smiled back. “Yeah, I’d say that makes me an official uncle to you and to your honorary little brother. You know, the more I think about this, the more I like it. Noelle, you should definitely go out with Joe. He’s a great guy. He deserves someone like you. And as a real uncle by marriage, I’d have a lot more authority over both of these kids.”

“Yes. Well. I think this talk of marriage is rushing things a bit. But if Joe actually asks me out, I promise I’ll take it seriously.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After lunch Neal had another session with Noelle. This time they sat at the picnic table, and they talked about how Vance had affected Neal’s life even after the man was arrested. “I always avoided that greenbelt after I got back home,” Neal said. “It used to be one of my favorite places to play. It seemed magical, before.”

“And after?”

“It seemed haunted.” Neal looked down into the valley below them, the trees glistening under a blanket of snow and ice. “You know, I think I’ve avoided hiking and camping and outdoorsy activities in general because I was abducted from my favorite outdoor place. But now… Now I want to come back here again someday and explore. It’s like I can start to see the magic again. It’s beautiful here.”

When the session was over, Noelle took Neal’s hand. “Yesterday you asked if I still love you. I do, very much. The fact is, I didn’t expect you would get to me so quickly.”

“And that’s a problem. As a therapist.”

“Yes, sweetie. We don’t have to make a transition right away, but I don’t have the objectivity you need from a therapist in the long term. I know a lot of excellent psychologists in the New York area; in fact I studied with many of them when I went to Columbia. When you’re ready, I’ll refer you to someone who will be a good fit. And then I’d like to focus on being your aunt.”

Neal squeezed her hand. “I’d like that.” After a moment he added, “Can we talk about my mom?”

Noelle took a shaky breath. “We can try. What do you want to know?”

“Do you think I’ll end up like her?”

“You mean an alcoholic?”

Neal shook his head. “No. I tested that out shortly after I ran away. I asked Henry to make sure I didn’t overdo it, and I finally tried drinking. I still hate beer, but I’m good with wine and alcohol in general. I’ve never had a problem stopping, and I don’t crave it. It’s not my go-to when I feel upset or overwhelmed.”

“What do you turn to in those circumstances?”

Neal let go of her hand and leaned forward, elbows on the picnic table. “Art. For the big things, I use my art. Music for smaller stuff. And now I have Peter. And Henry. When everything with Robert happened in 2001 and I had to promise to stay away from Henry, I kind of went a little crazy. I poured myself into art, but specifically for criminal purposes. Being able to turn to Henry again has been… It’s like someone replaced a broken pressure valve and I can let off steam again.”

“For your mother, her pressure valves were cooking and… me. Our parents, of course, and our brother David, but mostly me. Going into WITSEC, she lost almost all contact with us, and the Marshals insisted she make a career change as part of her new identity. For some reason, she couldn’t or wouldn’t find other ways to deal with the pressures. That’s where you’re different. You’re still finding new ways to handle the pressure. You let Peter into your life; you agreed to therapy. These are all healthy choices, and signs that you’re able to continue adapting.”

“But I wasn’t making healthy choices in 2001. I threw myself into crime. I was kind of an adrenaline junkie for a while.”

Noelle rubbed his back as she said. “The important thing now is that you stopped, and that you recognize those old behaviors as self-destructive. Are you tempted to do those things again?”

Neal stretched his back, feeling his muscles loosening. “There are parts that were fun, but I can get the same kind of rush working at the FBI. And I realized I don’t need that rush constantly. Is that it, then? Mom’s issue was she refused to adapt?”

“People are rarely that simple and straightforward. The next question would be why she refused to adapt. We’re reaching questions now that we can’t answer without talking to her. But if I had to speculate, I’d have you consider that she didn’t love herself very much. Something happened to make her feel… bad… and not worth the effort of adapting. Then as she saw how her poor decisions were hurting you, she would have felt even worse about herself, and it becomes a vicious cycle of drinking and dating someone like Vance.” Noelle stopped rubbing Neal’s back, and instead ran a hand along his face, sweeping back a lock of hair. “You could use a haircut.”

“Talk about a non-sequitur.”

“I was getting too maudlin. As long as you remember that you have value, that you are loved and are deserving of that love, I don’t see you turning out like your mother. And I promise that Henry and I will do everything we can to help you in that regard. Peter will too, for that matter.”

Neal sat in silence for a moment, feeling warmed by her promise. “I always believed my mom loved me, on some level. But at the same time, she avoided me. She worked late, or escaped in the drinking. She would have been more content if I weren’t around, and I knew it. But she would have felt guilty leaving me, or if she thought she drove me away. I couldn’t win. Neither of us could. No matter what we did, there was no way for her to be happy. When I finally ran away, I knew… Well, I was certain it was best for both of us to go our own ways. By then we’d go days, sometimes weeks, without talking to each other.”

“You both would have been better off if you’d discussed what was troubling each of you with a family therapist. But avoidance often seems easier.”

“It takes courage to talk about it,” Neal said. Then he looked at his aunt in surprise. “I never considered that she was scared, but it makes sense now. She must have had a flight instinct, like me. But she couldn’t leave, either because of the Marshals or because she believed it would be wrong to abandon me. Feeling pinned down when your instincts are screaming at you to run is awful, and that’s how life must have been for her for years. No wonder she was messed up. But she’s better now, right? You said she’s not drinking anymore.”

Noelle sighed. “She’s not drinking, and that’s an improvement. But the last time I talked to her she didn’t seem… She didn’t seem as rational as I expected. I’m starting to suspect she puts up an act around Christmas, when she knows we’re going to talk. When I took her by surprise with an unscheduled call recently, she… she worried me. I’m going to ask the Marshals to get her professional help.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I’m glad Henry talked me into therapy.” He studied his aunt a moment. Usually he was struck by her physical similarities to his mother, but like Henry he was surprised that anyone would confuse the two women. They seemed very different to him now. “You’re a lot braver than she is.”

“That’s a matter of opinion. I’d say we react to fear in different ways. My mother used to say that the easiest way to tell us apart was to be around us when we were afraid. Meredith would clam up and hide, and I wouldn’t stop talking. Our parents knew how to calm us down, so that I would shut up and Meredith would acknowledge her fears. It sounds like she didn’t have anyone filling that role for her in St. Louis. I’m disappointed she didn’t find a support system – like those pressure valves we were talking about.”

At the start of the conversation Neal had been concerned about what he had in common with his mother, but now he took comfort in the ways they differed. That led to a thought about one of the differences between himself and Henry. “You and Henry have a fight instinct instead of a flight instinct, don’t you?”

“Yes. That’s one reason it was such a shock when Henry essentially disappeared when he was 20. It wasn’t like him to run.”

“He was still fighting,” Neal said, “but in a different way.” Unsure how much Henry would be comfortable letting Noelle know, Neal stood to cut off the conversation. “We should head back inside.”

Noelle walked with him in silence until they neared the cabin. “I wish Henry would tell me more about what happened to him. His refusal to talk about it has always troubled me.”

“Henry’s strong,” Neal said. But he was worried. Something was off with his cousin now and no one seemed to notice. Perhaps because they were all focused on Neal. He needed to find out what was going on, and then find a way to help his cousin. For the last few weeks everyone had been coming to Neal’s rescue, and he was glad for their help. Now he wanted to return the favor, and suspected it wouldn’t be long before Henry was the one who needed to lean on someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Neal tells Joe Burke about catching Villiers and the offer to work for the FBI is provided in more detail in “Caffrey Conversation,” which is the first installment in this AU. And yes, that story also includes the sick!fic elements of Peter looking after feverish, loopy Neal.
> 
> The experiment Neal mentions with drinking is not recommended as a means to determine if you have alcoholic tendencies; but it seemed like something that would make sense to a frightened teenager. 
> 
> Neal’s right about Henry, and we’ll see the first step toward their roles reversing in the next chapter as things start to fall apart for Henry, and Peter and Neal start to pick up the pieces. We’re nearing the end of this story, and actually picking up all of the pieces will be the focus of upcoming story “Caffrey Disclosure.” That’s where we’ll see Neal making a transition from victim to hero.
> 
> Thanks again to Silbrith for edits and beta reading. Any mistakes are my fault, for continuing to tweak up to the last minute. And thanks everyone for reading. Next week’s chapter will be the last one set at the cabin, and then they’ll be back in Manhattan in the remaining chapters for Neal’s birthday party and to wrap up the case.
> 
> For the guest on FF.net who requested “hoping for such a scene where theyre about to do something stupid and either peter/noelle/grandparents stop them and let them have it for being that idiotic (request!)” Sounds like fun. That might fit into chapter 30 or 31. If not I’ll keep in mind for the next story.


	28. Fix You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were some questions after the last chapter about Henry’s role in the upcoming chapters and stories. I’ll address those at the end of this chapter. And yes, he plays a big role in this chapter but that’s a temporary situation to set up the next plot direction; he isn’t going to become the main character.

**Burke family cabin, Catskills. Friday afternoon. March 5, 2004.**

After the latest therapy session, Neal accompanied Noelle back to the cabin, where Peter and Elizabeth were putting on coats and boots. “We’re finally going to build those snowmen,” El said. “We have a few hours of daylight left.”

“I think Henry’s sledding,” Peter added. “You wanna let him know? He may want to join us.”

Neal found his cousin at the hill where they’d gone sledding yesterday. But this wasn’t the fun, laughter-filled version of the sport Henry had introduced him to. He was clearly going for speed, with an uncharacteristic recklessness as he raced down the hill. Somewhat to Neal’s surprise, it occurred to him that he might need Peter’s help to deal with whatever demons were driving Henry. But for now it would be easier to identify those demons if they were alone.

He waited at the top of the hill for Henry to return. His cousin was panting a bit when he reached the top and saw Neal. Henry positioned the sled beside him and sat down.

Neal studied Henry’s face and said, “It’s not helping.”

Henry pulled off his cap, leaving his hair a mess. “What isn’t helping?”

“Barreling down the hill. You’re still stressed.”

“You should have seen me before.” Henry pulled off his gloves, made an attempt to smooth out his hair, and put the gloves back on again.

“Is it Win-Win?” Neal asked, aware that he’d brushed off Henry’s concerns about being fired. He should have kept asking questions when Henry gave him that opening.

“I keep thinking about this Mr. Hyde, how someone inside the company could do something like that and not get caught. It makes me wonder about some stuff that happened before, like around the time my parents got divorced. If I’m right, there are some big issues in the company. Getting everything cleaned up and staying clean, that’s a massive job. If I commit to it, I might never escape. It could take over my life.”

“If you don’t want to do it, just tell them,” Neal said.

“It’s not that I don’t want to do it, exactly. It’s just that I thought I’d have the chance to do other stuff, first. Plus I’m dreading some of the issues I’ll uncover. I probably know the people involved. A lot of the company employees are Winstons or Winslows I’ve known all my life. It’s gonna get personal. Sometimes I wonder if I’m up to the job.”

“Would they really make you responsible for cleaning everything up? I thought you had a few years before the board wanted you to take over.”

“Yeah, but people are starting to get wind of the fact that I’m supposed to be the next CEO. No matter who’s officially in charge, those people will think of me as the future boss. They’ll try to please me, try to make sure whatever changes they suggest are ones I’ll support. That means I need to keep up with all the changes and make sure I’m supporting the right ones. When am I going to go after Masterson? It’ll keep getting delayed. Meanwhile he’s out there making money hand over fist while friends of ours see their dreams crumble. And… You met Randy Weston?”

“Yeah, I went to his music shop like you suggested. It’s amazing.”

“I met his daughter a couple of years ago. Not long after you first left for Europe. Incredible voice, amazing talent, and… And she… She got involved in one of Masterson’s shadier deals. Couldn’t find any way out of it. She tried to kill herself. Lives are at stake, and I’m supposed to play junior CEO?”

“Then don’t.”

“Right. Win-Win is a family legacy. Hundreds of people depend on it for their livelihood. I’m supposed to tell them I’m too busy for them?”

Neal sat beside Henry on the sled. They were way outside his area of expertise. He wished Graham were here. As much as the man wanted his grandson to take over the company, Neal didn’t believe he wanted to make Henry miserable in order to accomplish it. “All that on top of me being drugged and hospitalized, huh?”

Henry briefly leaned against Neal, more of a quick shoulder bump. “Thank God you’re ok. That really was more than I could handle at any time, regardless of the rest.”

“How about you remember that I’m ok now and use me?”

Henry shook his head. “It’s too soon. You’re still not out of the woods.”

Neal gestured to the trees around them. “We’re both in the woods, in more ways than one. Listen, I don’t know the first thing about how a company like Win-Win works, and I can’t say I want to know. But I do want to help. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

Henry laughed. “You’re going to start following orders all of the sudden?”

“I’m serious. The last week or so, everyone’s been coming to my rescue and been on my case about how I should ask for help. How about you get over the big brother thing and admit you could use some help, too?”

“I guess you could…” Henry paused as Satchmo bounded up to them. “Hey, boy.” He rubbed the dog’s ears.

“Thought you two might have gotten lost,” Peter said, reaching them a moment after Satchmo. “Everything ok?”

Henry stood up. “Sure. We’re good, aren’t we, Neal?”

Neal took Henry’s hand and stood up. “Getting there. Sorry about that, Peter. I lost track of the time.” Then he grabbed Henry’s cap, balled it up and yelled, “Fetch, Satchmo!” as he threw the cap back toward the cabin. Satchmo ran after it, with Henry a step behind.

Neal remained beside the sled, silent.

Peter started pulling the sled toward the storage shed. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Neal followed, and hoping he was doing the right thing said, “For a long time, Henry was my hero, you know? He came to my rescue, never let me down, always seemed to know what he was doing. As time went on, he took on more and more. Partly to impress me, partly because… I think it’s his rush, you know? For me it was the cons and heists. For him it’s playing the hero. Or at least undermining the bad guys.”

Peter opened the doors of the shed. “You still think he knows what he’s doing?”

After Peter had the sled in place, Neal helped push the doors closed. “With a big job, like a museum heist, you do a lot of planning. You consider all the details and possibilities and have back-up plans. But in the end you have to go with instinct. I rely on my instincts to get through tough situations, and Henry even more so. He’s dealing with people now who have such intricate plans that the best way to throw them off is to go in with all the information but also with what appears to be no plan at all. At least, not a conscious plan. He’s a chess player when he needs to be, but he’s a genius at working on the fly and pulling all the elements together at the last minute. But that makes it hard to help him. And it could be that he’s reached a limit of how much his instincts can take in and react to and still stay above water. I’m not sure he’s going to recognize that he’s in too deep until it’s too late.”

“Tell me he’s not going to pull you into whatever this is.” When Neal didn’t answer, Peter stopped on the path up to the cabin and put a restraining hand on his nearest shoulder. “Neal?”

“You know he wants me to go to work at Win-Win someday.”

“And is that all you’re talking about? Neal, you gotta give me more to go on. You wouldn’t have started telling me about this unless you wanted me to do something about it. Tell me what to expect.”

“I don’t know enough yet. It could be days or months before it all becomes clear. Or maybe I’m overreacting. Just… Just be prepared.”

“And when whatever you’re trying not to tell me about happens, you’ll ask for help?”

It still didn’t quite feel natural. Neal wondered if it would ever be easy to admit he couldn’t handle things on his own. He supposed he had a lot in common with Henry in that regard. But he acquiesced and said, “Yeah, to keep Henry out of trouble, I’ll ask for help. He isn’t going to like it, though.”

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Saturday morning they packed up. The weather was great, the roads were clear, and Neal was in a much better emotional state, at least as far as Peter could tell. The plan was that they’d stop for lunch in a nearby town, and reach the city by late afternoon.

Henry was carrying his guitar to the SUV when Elizabeth said, “What was that song you played the other night?”

He smiled smoothly. “It was ‘Nothing Else Matters.’ Classic Metallica.”

“No, the other song. I’d never heard it before.”

Henry stiffened slightly. Peter might not have paid any attention, but Neal paused and gave his cousin a sharp glance. “El’s a big music fan,” Neal said. It almost sounded like a warning.

“It was ‘Fix You’ by Coldplay. I don’t think it’s been released in the U.S. yet. They’re a British band, you know.” Henry nodded as Neal held the cabin door open for him. Neal followed with the easel and art supplies. Elizabeth remained in the cabin, making sure they had left the kitchen in perfect shape.

Peter picked up a suitcase and stepped outside as quietly as he could. He heard Neal’s hushed but angry voice. “…2005! Are you crazy?”

Henry’s voice was indistinct at first, but ended with, “…leaked on the internet more and more these days. It’s no big deal.” Then Henry looked up to see Peter. “You need any help with that?”

“No, it’s lighter than it looks.” Peter placed the suitcase in the vehicle. “How about you? You got everything?”

Henry nodded. “That was the last of it. We’re done.”

“Ok. Let’s get El, Noelle and Satchmo and get on our way.” Peter closed the hatch. And as he walked back to the cabin, he made a mental note to look up that song to find out why the cousins were arguing about it.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After driving about 20 minutes south, they reached the outskirts of a small town and cell phone coverage returned. All of their phones started beeping and vibrating with notices of missed calls and messages. And as everyone else reached for their devices, El said, “Not yet. Burke family tradition. This remains a cell-phone-free vacation until after lunch. We’re about a block away from an adorable restaurant that shouldn’t be ruined by staring at our phones to scroll through messages.”

Peter helped enforce the “family tradition” El had actually invented on the spot. Even though he was eager to check his own messages, he did understand her desire to extend the family focus a little longer. He took all of their phones and locked them in the back of the SUV. Then they had sandwiches at the soda-shop themed café. Only after they ate did he return the phones, sending each person in a different direction in the parking lot for a little privacy as they checked messages.

Agent Tricia Wiese had texted some updates, but there hadn’t been much progress until Friday. Then she simply sent: “Call Hughes” and listed the man’s personal cell phone number.

There were voice mails from Reese Hughes and Graham Winslow. After speaking with both men, Peter turned his attention to Henry. For a moment he feared Henry had run, but then he saw the young man had simply moved to lean against a nearby car. He looked dazed. Noelle and Neal were already approaching him, but Peter broke into a run. “I need you to give us some space,” Peter ordered. “If you want to help him, don’t get in the way. I can clear most of this up in a few minutes if you give us some privacy. Trust me.”

“No more than ten minutes, and I’ll be watching,” Noelle said, before walking toward the SUV.

Neal said, “Henry?” And after his cousin nodded, Neal followed Noelle.

“There are some benches, just a few yards over. In the summer most people want to eat outside, because the restaurant isn’t air-conditioned. Think you can join me?” Peter kept his voice as calm as he could. He waited for Henry to make the first move, and when they were seated at the nearest bench, Peter simply said, “I talked to Graham,” and left it at that. Even though Noelle had given a time limit, he knew it was best not to rush into this.

“I would never…” Henry started, but he couldn’t go on.

“Take your time.” He needed to get this in Henry’s words.

“Pops said they suddenly found evidence… That the purchases of Flashback… That it points to me. It all looks like… Like I was part of Highbury’s blackmail scheme, like I gave the order for the overdose…” He paused, almost gasping for breath. “But I don’t see how… I had nothing to do with… Peter, I’m not the most law-abiding person on Earth, but we’re talking about Neal. Someone tried to kill _Neal_ , and I could never… To think someone would make it look like I would… God, Peter, if anything happened to him I couldn’t…” He looked up at Peter, his eyes filled with tears, but anger and determination on his face. “No! They aren’t going to get away with hurting Neal. I will find out who did this.”

“Ok, deep breath. Let’s back up a step. I need you to answer a few questions. First, did you ever have the drug Flashback in your possession?”

“No.”

Peter nodded. “Did you ever provide or arrange to provide Flashback to anyone else?”

“No.”

“Before you and Graham came to New York for the Enscombe op, were you aware that employees of Highbury were drugging their clients?”

“No.”

Peter took a moment on how to phrase the last question. “Did you ever suggest to anyone that Flashback or a drug like Flashback should be used to retrieve Neal’s repressed memories?”

“No!” Henry shot off the chair and started to pace. “Just the opposite. I tried to talk him out of that part of the op, volunteered to go in his place. You were there, Peter!”

“I know, I know. For what it’s worth, Graham and I both agree it’s a frame. In some ways, it’s actually good news. It means the person who did this is getting desperate. Graham thinks by Monday they can identify who planted the evidence that suddenly and conveniently appeared in the Win-Win logs.” Peter stood and placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder, putting an end to the frantic pacing. “But in the meantime, I have to take this seriously. We need to go to the Bureau and have you answer these questions again, and probably some more. You’re not under arrest, but we need to treat you seriously as a suspect so we can officially clear you. And one more question. Graham said you didn’t spend the night before the op at his hotel suite. Where were you, and can you provide witnesses who can give you an alibi?”

Henry gave a shaky laugh. “I went to the _Executive Decision_ and spent the night on the boat. And remember the whole twin-speak thing? I’ll give you one guess who also decided to spend the night there.”

Peter could finally smile. “Of course he’s your alibi against allegations that you tried to kill him. Let me confirm that, and then I’ll send Neal and Noelle over.”

“Peter?”

Peter was already a couple of steps away, but the question stopped him in his tracks. It sounded so… forlorn. He turned around.

“Pops wouldn’t say who he thought planted the evidence against me.”

Wanting to tread carefully, Peter said, “Theoretically it could be anyone with access to the Win-Win systems where the data was uncovered.”

“But it’s probably my dad.”

Peter nodded, and Henry’s expression was heartbreaking. Peter stepped forward and hugged the young man before he even thought about it. “We’re going to fix this. Wait here.” On the walk back to the SUV, Peter reconsidered some of his assumptions about the day Neal ran away. It hadn’t really made sense to Peter that Neal was surprised to learn his father was a dirty cop. No family photos, no clippings of articles about his heroism, no visits to the widow and child from the local PD, no inclusion in memorials, no gravestone to visit. All of that put together practically screamed that James wasn’t dead and wasn’t a hero. How could it have come as such a shock to a bright kid like Neal?

He’d seen the answer in Henry. That desperate hope against hope that his father was good and loved him. It took a lot to kill that, and Peter had just watched it die.

Noelle met him part way, “What is it?”

Peter shook his head, unable to put words to the tragedy of it all. “He needs you,” Peter said, and then she was rushing toward Henry.

“Peter?” Neal sounded uncertain. Sometimes he sounded so much like Henry.

“Where did you spend the night before the Enscombe op?” Peter realized his voice sounded hoarse.

“On Graham’s boat.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“Yeah, Henry was there. Why -” Neal’s question was lost as Peter hugged him, too. “What’s that about?”

“You need to talk to Henry, but first I just want to tell you… You aren’t like your fathers. Neither of you are.”

Looking confused but anxious to talk to Henry, Neal said, “Yeah, ok. I’m guessing we should talk about that again after I know what Robert’s done.” Then he ran over to where Noelle sat on the bench with Henry.

El had been staying out of the way, but now she came forward and squeezed Peter’s hand. “I love you,” she said.

“You didn’t even hear what happened.”

“Not with my ears, but I listened with my heart.” She looked up with a watery smile. “And my eyes picked up a lot, too. Neal was right to pick you as his father figure. They both need you today.”

As if to underscore that point, as Henry was climbing into the SUV Neal thanked Peter, who patted him on the back and once again promised, “We’ll fix this.”

“I know we will. I trust you, Peter. We both do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Henry has been described by Neal as an “alternate me” – someone whose life is what Neal’s might have been like in other circumstances. It’s a fantasy for Neal, much like the “picket fence” fantasy of Peter’s life. In my next story, Neal will deal with seeing his fantasy collapse. I didn’t want to accomplish that by ruining Peter’s life, so instead Henry will be the one I torture, while Peter remains the bedrock Neal can rely on. That will force Neal to open up more to Peter. This new theme puts Henry temporarily in the spotlight here as we see the cracks appearing in the fantasy, and then we can focus on how Neal deals with the situation and how Peter helps him through it. But even with the focus on Henry in this chapter, he’s acting as a mirror for Neal – for instance, watching how Henry reacts to learning his father is evil gives Peter insight into what it was like for Neal to learn his father wasn’t a hero.
> 
> The album featuring the song “Fix You” by Coldplay wasn’t released in the US until 2005; that’s why Neal was concerned that Henry sang the song in 2004. The next chapter will feature Neal’s birthday party. And my next story will explain how Henry knew the song.


	29. Happy Birthday

**Neal’s apartment. Sunday morning. March 7, 2004.**

After more than a week away, it felt great to wake up in his own place again. Neal had been prepared to argue last night that he should be allowed to return home, and when that argument hadn’t been necessary, he didn’t put up a fight when Henry insisted on staying at Neal’s place. Having been accused of being the infamous Mr. Hyde, Henry needed the show of trust from Peter and Neal that he was still assigned as Neal’s guard against the real Mr. Hyde.

And now Neal woke to the smell of the breakfast Henry was preparing. They had a tradition for Neal’s birthday, and it always started with room service or breakfast in bed, depending on where they were.

One of their first arguments, after Henry found Neal and checked him into a hospital in Chicago, had been about Neal’s birthday. Neal had insisted his birthday was March 7, because that’s the date he’d grown up celebrating. But that was a date the Marshals had chosen for his WITSEC identity. He’d actually been born on March 21 and Henry had insisted Neal was still a minor, even though Neal believed he had run away on his 18th birthday.

It had led to a compromise. They alternated celebrating his birthday. In odd-numbered years they celebrated March 21, and in even-numbered years they celebrated March 7. Even though it was complicated, even though they often had a lot going on, Henry _never_ forgot. He clearly took great pleasure in planning birthday celebrations, and in keeping his plans a secret. Given everything Henry had been through yesterday – learning that his father was almost certainly the person who had tried to kill Neal and had tried to frame Henry for the crime – it was tempting to tell him he didn’t have to do the big birthday thing this year. But Neal knew his cousin. If he weren’t busy running this birthday, he’d be fretting and obsessing about what Robert had done.

Neal had realized a couple of years ago that they both needed these celebrations. It was less about a birthday and more about their friendship, falling around the anniversary of when they had met up as semi-adults. It had served as an acknowledgement that they valued their friendship and wanted to continue their journeys together. He’d taken it for granted until 2001, when he waited until the end of that year’s celebration to put an end to their partnership, saying they needed to go separate ways, all the while hiding the fact that Robert was blackmailing him into leaving. The next year Neal had made a point of being out of the country on his birthday, and had spent the day in utter misery. In 2003 he’d been in New York, and had been relieved when Henry showed up at his apartment early in the morning with an exorbitant take-out breakfast. That had marked the official mending of their friendship, even if they had to hide it from Robert.

This time after breakfast Mozzie joined them for an activity that had clearly been his idea. With his help they organized Neal’s artworks. Some they framed and hung in Neal’s apartment. Works in progress were carefully sorted and arranged near a present from Henry: a much more sturdy and expensive easel than Neal had ever owned. Henry had brushed off the thanks, saying it was a more practical choice now that Neal actually had a fixed address and wouldn’t be moving every few months. The rest of Neal’s art they took to a nearby, climate-controlled storage facility that catered to artists and others with delicate items to store. The rent was already paid for a year in advance by June. She was still staying with her daughters for another week but had wanted to do something in honor of Neal’s birthday. She’d left a note saying that Byron had also designated a gift that she would deliver in person when she returned to Riverside Drive.

Henry took Neal out for a light lunch, which told Neal that his cousin had something big in mind for later in the day. Neal had been surprised at the location. Why had they left Manhattan for a diner that was good but not extraordinary? It was really a family place, with an extensive kids’ menu, a game area and balloons for everyone under 12. Just when Neal thought they were done, several servers arrived with a cake and started singing “Happy Birthday,” as others walked over from the more kid-oriented side of the restaurant to join in the song. Neal recognized Benny Sinclair and his three daughters, plus Thomas and Peggy Gardiner with Guillaume D’Arcy, and Agents Tricia Wiese and Clinton Jones. The people with Tricia were introduced after the song as her husband and their two children, and with Jones were his brother and sister and their kids. It was like a reunion of people from the case that had marked Neal’s first undercover work with the FBI. The two youngest Sinclair daughters, Tricia’s kids and Jones’ niece and nephew had already bonded over a love of Harry Potter, and that led to the story of why Lily and Katy Sinclair had thought Neal was the famous wizard on New Year’s Eve. Henry entertained them with some magic tricks, and Neal also joined in the sleight-of-hand.

On the way back to their car afterward Neal said, “They’re all so normal.”

“Muggles,” Henry said disparagingly as he unlocked the car doors.

Neal laughed as he got into the car. Before Henry could start the engine he asked, “Is that how it was for you as a kid? The whole big family thing with the Caffreys and Winslows?”

“Every family’s different, but yeah, there were a lot of occasions like that. I haven’t always understood how foreign that was to you.”

“It was nice to get a taste of it,” Neal said.

“I’m glad you said that, because we’ve got to ease you into it. You can’t just be an observer of other families. Dor and Dressa are going to insist that you join a family celebration for Christmas.” Henry started the car and looked over at Neal before putting it in gear. “Don’t look so stressed. You can do this. It’s going to be fun. You liked lunch. Think of it as practice for the next time you’re hanging out with our family.”

Back at Neal’s apartment, they had a little over an hour to relax before Henry insisted they change into suits. Then they were on their way to the hotel where Noelle was staying. Somewhat to Neal’s surprise, Noelle was still using the massive suite that Graham had rented. And Graham was back. Peter and Elizabeth were also there, and for once Peter’s suit wasn’t from Brooks Brothers. He looked almost debonair, and slightly out of his element.

Seeing him here, Neal admitted to himself how disappointed he’d been that Peter hadn’t joined the lunch. Trying not to overthink it, Neal went on instinct. He walked over to Peter and for the first time initiated a hug. “Thanks, Peter.”

Peter patted him on the back, and then met Neal’s eyes as the younger man stepped away. “You’re welcome. For what?”

“For not giving up on me, even when I’m tempted to give up on myself.”

“I’m pretty stubborn,” Peter warned. “I’ll keep dragging you back to the light until you finally believe you belong here. You are one of the good guys.”

Henry joined them. “Give it back, Neal.”

Neal grinned and handed Peter’s badge back to the agent. “I couldn’t believe you brought it to a birthday party.” Then he became more serious. “But since you did, can you update me on the case? I know the details can wait until Monday, but I’d like to hear the big picture. Can we get that out of the way, and then put it aside for the party?”

Peter hesitated. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go back to work so soon?”

“Yes,” Neal insisted.

“A half-day,” Henry said. “We have plans for Monday afternoon.”

Neal knew nothing about these plans, but he was willing to compromise. “A half-day Monday, and then I’m back full time.”

Peter nodded. “Henry, will you grab Graham?” The four of them sat in the living area. “Yesterday, with some help from Win-Win, we found August Hitchum. OPR is questioning him today, and Monday we’ll get our shot at him.”

“From our side,” Graham said, “the Hitchum connection started pulling things together. We tracked money and communications going to him. Our Mr. Hyde’s methods and motives are becoming clear. It’s a combination of wanting to get ahead at Win-Win at any cost and wanting to hurt Neal.”

“It’s Robert,” Henry said, sounding resigned.

“I hate to think my own son would do this. I hate what it’s putting you through. But yeah, everything’s pointing in that direction. Back at Jacobi, when you talked about Robert blackmailing Neal, I couldn’t believe it. But when I got back to Baltimore and talked to him, he kept his cool until I mentioned Neal. He couldn’t hide his reaction when I asked for his side of the blackmail story. I wish you’d told me about that earlier. I had no idea.”

“I thought that’s how Win-Win did things. After all, the company is his life. It’s hard to separate Dad from the job.”

“No wonder you resisted coming to work for us. I don’t suppose you’d tell me how he talked you into that?” When Henry shook his head, Graham continued, “We can talk about it later. I have a feeling there’s a lot we need to talk about before you go back to work. Anyway, the day after I talked to Robert is when we found the evidence pointing to you, and then he went missing.”

“I’ll find him,” Henry promised.

“No,” Graham said. “We’ll find him. We’re in this together. And frankly I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be part of the search. We should go with a Winston as the lead on this – someone who isn’t emotionally involved. Something like this, it can tear you apart if you let it. Let someone else take this on. I’ve been talking to Noelle. She says you need time to come to terms with what he’s done. God knows if I’ll ever understand what Robert did and why, so I sure see her point.”

Henry nodded, but there was a stubborn expression on his face that Neal knew well. Henry would find a way to join the search for Robert.

“When you say we’re in this together, you’d better mean Win-Win and the FBI,” Peter said. “We have a stake in this. We could have separate investigations, but it would be more efficient if we shared information and worked together.”

A woman walked up, wearing a bartender’s uniform. “Good evening. I’m Yvonne. Welcome to the premier event of Burke Premiere Events. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Hell, yes,” said Graham. “It’s time we remembered this is a party.”

As Yvonne took their drink requests, Neal noticed someone had started playing the suite’s grand piano, and was doing an amazing job with a complex piece by Chopin. “Who’s playing?” he asked Henry.

Henry tried to look innocent. “I can’t imagine.”

Neal leaned over to get a better view of the piano. “Angela? What’s she doing in New York?”

“Spring break,” Henry said. “It was perfect timing to stop here on her way home to DC.”

“You’re kidding me. And you just snuck her in when I wasn’t looking?” Neal stood up to walk to the piano. He waited to the side while she finished the Nocturne, not wanting to interrupt.

“Here’s your drink.” Peter carried the glass of wine Neal had requested.

“Hey, Dad, you’ve gotta meet…” Neal trailed off, derailed by the stunned expression on Peter’s face. “What is it?”

“You called me _Dad_.”

“I did?” Neal hadn’t realized he’d done that. He’d done it before of course, but always consciously, and almost always in a joking manner. “Um.” He backed up half a step, wary of this whole family concept and unsure if he’d crossed a line calling Peter _Dad_ in this public setting.

Perhaps seeing Neal’s flight instinct was kicking in, Peter put a hand on his arm. “It’s ok, Neal. Took me by surprise, but in a good way.”

Before Neal could decide what to say, Angela came up and hugged him. “Happy Birthday, Neal.” She smiled at him, and then glanced at Peter.

“Here,” Peter handed Neal his drink and reached forward to shake Angela’s hand. “I’m Peter Burke, Neal’s boss, friend, and honorary father figure.”

“Angela Caffrey. I’m Neal’s cousin. Apparently we met as children, but the first time we remember meeting was this past Christmas. We’re just getting to know each other, beyond the wild stories Henry has told us over the years.”

“At Christmas?” Peter asked. “Were you in DC, too?”

Neal sighed. He’d been refusing to answer most of Peter’s questions about how he and Henry had spent Christmas. Partly to be annoying, partly to hide some of Henry’s secrets, and partly because he wasn’t sure what to say about Angela’s role. Christmas had been a rough time for her. “Peter is also nosy. It’s an occupational hazard. He’s an FBI agent. You don’t have to submit to an interrogation if you don’t want to.”

“Henry really has rubbed off on you, hasn’t he? You’ve got the big brother thing going, too. That’s sweet, in a totally annoying way.” Angela reached up to muss Neal’s hair.

“Hey, cut that out!”

As Neal straightened his hair, Angela smiled politely at Peter. “Normally we spend Christmas at my Caffrey grandparents’ house, but this was the first Christmas since my father had died. We all wanted to do something different and escape the flood of memories. We thought going to New York would be the answer. Plenty to do, new memories to make. The problem was, after we made our reservations a memorial for fallen soldiers was planned in New York for over the holidays. When word got out the Ambassador was going to be here, of course he was expected to attend to honor his son. I tried going, but just couldn’t handle it. I bolted, told Mom I needed to get away. Instead of dwelling on Dad’s death, I wanted to wallow in memories of his life, so I flew standby to DC on the morning of the 26th and showed up at my grandparents’ house. Finding Henry there gave me something else to think about, as I tried to figure out what he was up to. Because Henry is _always_ up to something. He actually tried to hide Neal. As if that was going to happen.” She looked back at Neal. “I think you were as curious to meet me as I was to meet you.”

Neal nodded.

And now she grinned, looking a lot like Henry. “Ok, I’ve stalled long enough. Turn around.”

Neal turned around and his eyes widened. “Trent, I didn’t expect…” He stared at his godfather, speechless.

“Yeah, Henry said it would be a surprise.” Trent Lombard introduced his wife and two teenaged sons.

“You’re the one!” one of the boys said.

“That’s right,” Trent said. “Neal is the reason I’ve never let you inside the Aston Martin.”

“You really stole his car when you were two years old?” asked the other boy.

“I was almost three, and it was more a matter of the car accidentally rolling off with me inside. I had no idea I’d put it in gear.”

“Thankfully I was there to save the day,” Henry said. “I can always find Neal.”

Neal raised a brow.

“No,” said Angela. “We are not playing hide-and-seek in the middle of your birthday party.”

“You’re just afraid I’d win,” Henry said.

“Keep your delusions. I’m going back to my good friend, Mr. Piano.” Soon Angela was playing “Yesterday.”

“Very subtle!” Henry yelled. “We are not the source of all your troubles!”

Angela transitioned into “You’re So Vain.”

“No respect at all,” Henry grumbled, sounding very much like Graham. “After all I’ve done for that girl.”

At the end of a verse she started playing “Nobody Does It Better.”

“That’s more like it.” Henry put an arm around each of Trent’s boys. “Let’s get you some food.” He led them happily away to a table of snacks.

Peter was talking to Trent. Elizabeth had struck up a conversation with Noelle and Polly Lombard. Angela was busy at the piano and Henry was basking in the admiration of two starving teenagers. Maybe this family stuff wasn’t going to be overwhelming.

“Neal.” Graham was standing beside him, hands in his pockets. “I hope I’m not too out of place at a Caffrey family party.”

“You can hardly be out of place in your own hotel suite.”

“I didn’t expect to like you,” Graham said. “I listened too much to things Robert said, and didn’t ask enough questions. Now Henry, he’s always questioning things. Drives me crazy sometimes. But the fact is, that’s what Win-Win needs. Our founders either quit or got booted out of the FBI because they constantly questioned things instead of accepting the status quo. My father was one of them, you know. An agent who couldn’t stop asking questions. Somehow over the years we got complacent, wanted the employees to be smart but not get smart with us. Stay in their place and do what they’re told. But not Henry, and not that team he trained. They’re what we need.”

“Are you trying to ask me to convince Henry to stay at Win-Win? He already knows you need him. But I’m not going to try to help guilt him into doing something he doesn’t want. You have to let him make up his own mind.”

Graham shook his head. “Yeah, I know he needs time. I’m trying to get around to thanking you. He credits the time he spent with you for a lot of his maturity. When I think about what Robert’s done, and how that’s going to hurt the family, well, I’m glad Henry has a friend like you. I might not have Noelle’s expertise in psychology, but even I can tell a good friend makes a huge difference in your outlook when you’re feeling hurt.”

“Thanks, Mr. Winslow. I’ll do everything I can to help Henry. He’s been like a brother to me.”

“I know. In fact, I’m starting to think you should go ahead and call me _Pops_.”

“Oh. That’s, um, that’s very kind of you.”

Graham laughed. “All part of my plot to rope you into Win-Win one of these days. Make you feel like one of the family, and next thing you know you’re part of the team.”

“And then Henry’s even more motivated to stay.”

“You’re smart, I’ll give you that. Of course, I wouldn’t try to recruit you if you were stupid.” Graham stepped forward and put a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “Fact is, even if I didn’t like you, I couldn’t forgive what Robert did. It was wrong in more ways than I can count, and… I have a hard time comprehending it, much less talking about it. But I promise, there will be justice. Noelle tells me she already has some ideas about how we can make things up to you. I have a feeling the next Win-Win board meeting is going to be a doozy.”

Trent’s oldest son arrived with a plate of appetizers and handed it to Neal. “Henry said I should come rescue you.”

“Thanks.”

“Whippersnapper is too smart for his own good,” Graham grumbled. “Both of you are. Must be why I like you.” He grabbed an appetizer from the plate and joined Peter and Trent.

Neal put his glass of wine on a table and tried an appetizer. Then he looked at the boy who had delivered the plate. He looked about 18. “Paul, right?” Neal asked.

“Yeah.”

“Not your normal birthday party.”

Paul shrugged. “Normal is a cake and candles and people singing the birthday song.”

That was a good description of Neal’s lunch: a normal birthday party. He’d been to parties like that as a kid, and had a few of his own on years his mother felt up to it. This was the first year Henry had gone the traditional route. The Lombard family looked as normal as you get, but Paul’s use of the term sounded derogatory. “Not a fan of normal?” Neal asked.

“It gets old. Mom likes to arrange stuff that’s more interesting. We do something different every year.”

“What was your favorite?”

Paul thought it over. “This might sound lame.”

“Try me.”

“Last year my birthday fell over spring break. We went to Colorado. The Air Force Academy is in Colorado Springs and Dad knows a lot of people there. And my brother Davy is all about flying and the Air Force.   But for my birthday we visited the Cave of the Winds. They have some tours where you have to be at least 13, and this time Davy was old enough so we could all go. It made me think I want to be a geologist, you know? I’m older than Davy and still had no idea what I wanted to do. But after that trip I figured it out.” He shrugged. “Not as exciting as working for the FBI, I suppose.”

“You should try working a mortgage fraud case before you say that,” Neal said. “There’s nothing like working for the government when it comes to paperwork.”

“What about you? What was your best birthday?”

Neal considered a variety of surprises and adventures Henry had planned over the years. The first year had simply been a trip to an amusement park. The most surprising had been Neal’s first trip to Paris and a whirlwind visit of art museums. It was fortunate Neal was fluent in French, because Henry’s two years of high school French had gone in one ear and out the other. “This one,” said Neal. “It’s all about the people. That’s what’s really important.”

Soon Paul returned to his brother and the food, and Neal watched Henry join Angela at the piano. They had a routine down, a kind of comedy act honed from years of family events, where they squabbled and delivered their arguments and insults by singing lyrics from a wide array of songs. It was a long family tradition, Henry had explained over Christmas. David, Noelle and Meredith had done the same thing, as had Edmund Caffrey with his brothers and sisters. Neal listened to his cousins as he tried the gourmet appetizers. He could see hotel staff in the dining room, preparing to serve dinner.

There was a pause in the dueling at the piano. “Shoo!” ordered Noelle. She sat at the piano, playing a song Neal vaguely recognized. And suddenly Irene stepped around a corner, singing “Why Can’t You Behave” to her daughter’s accompaniment. Irene sought out Henry, twirling across the floor with him. Edmund took Angela into his arms, dancing and harmonizing with his wife as they admonished their grandchildren to behave.

Then Henry stopped in front of Neal. “You’re the guest of honor,” he said, stepping away from their grandmother as Irene tugged Neal onto what had become the dance floor.

The song was almost over, so Neal didn’t have long to dance with his grandmother. At the end of the song she looked up at him with a dazzling smile and said, “Happy Birthday, dear boy.”

He met her eyes, mesmerized, and blurted out, “You love me.”

“Of course.”

“But you don’t even know me. I’ve been gone for years.”

“Nonsense. I loved you from the day your mother told me she was expecting you. Love doesn’t end because you don’t see someone every day.” She patted his arm. “Dinner’s ready. They’re waiting for you.”

Neal followed her, entranced and bewildered. Edmund put an arm around Neal’s shoulders. “That’s the same look I had on my face the first time I talked to Irene. I think she was put on this Earth to befuddle me. Once I stopped fighting it, I loved every minute of it.”

Elizabeth heard the remark. “Will you tell us how you and Irene met?”

“It would be my pleasure,” said Edmund. “Here, Neal.” He directed Neal to the head of the table and sat beside him. Irene sat on Neal’s other side, with Elizabeth and Peter beside Edmund, and Henry, Angela and Noelle beside Irene. Graham, Trent, Polly and their sons filled out the other end of the table. “Now you have to keep in mind, I was the grandson of Irish immigrants. The stories they passed down said we were descended from the rulers of our land.” He took on an Irish accent as he spoke. “But that had been a long time ago. Stripped of money and family home, they became troubadours, a traveling band of proud but poor musicians and artists who wandered Ireland until a branch of the family decided to wander this country instead. And so it was when I was growing up. We had stories and songs, but no money, you see. I got by on my wits, which are a Caffrey trait. I had big plans. I might not be a ruler, but I wanted to meet them. And I wanted a big, welcoming home to return to and be proud of, a place where my children and their children would return. Well, that meant going to college. And to pay for college, I joined the Army.” Edmund suddenly turned to Neal. “Eat now, boyo. Don’t ignore the feast our lovely hostess arranged.”

Neal stopped staring at Edmund and obligingly took a bite of the salmon. It was good. He took another bite and looked up at Henry, wondering why he’d never shared this description of the Caffreys as troubadours. It seemed so apt.

Henry slid his eyes toward Angela and shook his head.

“My family wasn’t so colorful,” said Irene. “Bankers and brokers. Very earnest, conservative, and quietly wealthy. They had no idea what to make of me when I said I wanted to be an actress. They were stunned when I actually started getting parts in movies. But it was a golden age for musicals, a magic time for a young woman who could sing and dance and act. I was having the time of my life, and on a break between movies I agreed to join a USO tour, to entertain the troops. On one stop I met a very dashing, very disapproving officer. Such a lovely smile, yet it turned into a scowl every time he looked my way. But for some reason I liked him very much, and I asked him about his plans for after he left the Army. And he said very soon he would be going to New York City to study at Columbia. Before I left he unbent enough to sing a song with me. Such a wonderful baritone voice, such a sad thing that he seemed ashamed to be heard. We had a lovely time, but before I left he made it clear that we weren’t meant to be. He needed a proper, dignified, intelligent wife, not a fly-by-night actress.”

“Goodness,” said Elizabeth.

“Well, I might be a little bit stubborn,” Irene said. “You don’t make it into the movies without perseverance, and I decided to teach that officer a lesson. I’d had offers to do theater, and I took a part in a musical on Broadway. A small part, because I wanted time to study.”

Edmund smiled at her. “And I went to my first history class at Columbia to find a fly-by-night actress sitting a row behind me. Oh, she turned heads. Every man in the room asked her out, and she turned us all down. She was there to study, she told us, not to get her M-R-S. And she took the top honors. By the end of the semester we were asking for her for study dates, because she had the best grades of all of us. At the end of the school year she went back to Hollywood to make another movie. And she made a point of telling me goodbye, and wishing me luck finding a proper, dignified wife who wouldn’t bore the socks off me.” Edmund raised his glass in a toast to Irene. “Before the summer was over I was in Hollywood, begging her to marry me.”

“And you lived happily ever after?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, no. That would have been boring,” Irene objected. “We had adventures, with magnificent triumphs and the occasional tragedy.”

After the meal everyone gathered around the piano. This time Irene sang a few songs from movies she had appeared in. Then she asked Henry to sing. He chose “Peace in Our Time” and sang it with an Irish accent that brought a smile to Edmund’s face.

When Henry was done he looked up for the next request. Irene stood next to Neal and squeezed his arm. “I’m told you have a lovely voice, dear boy. Will you sing something for us?”

“Um. Sure.” It was rare for Neal to feel stage fright, but his mind went blank as he tried to think what song this group would like.

Henry seemed to guess what was going on. “You might want to give him some space,” he suggested as he picked up his guitar. “I think I know something Peter will appreciate.” Henry started playing and Neal grinned as he recognized Eric Clapton’s “No Alibis.” Neal sang, with Angela providing backup.

Then Henry handed the guitar to Edmund, who treated them to a few Irish folk songs. Several members of the family sang along. Henry had taught Neal some of these tunes over the years, and Edmund looked surprised but very pleased when Neal joined in.

At Irene’s request, Noelle took a seat at the piano and played “You Are My Lucky Star” while Neal had one more dance with this grandmother.

Then Edmund and Irene announced that they should return to their own room. “Henry said you’ll need time to adjust to having a family again,” Edmund said. “We won’t be breathing down your neck. But remember DC is a short flight away, and we hope you’ll visit us soon.”

“Very soon, my dear boy,” Irene seconded, and then she kissed Neal goodnight.

Angela left with them, explaining that she would be on the same flight back to Washington, DC early in the morning.

Trent Lombard and his family were the next to leave. He also encouraged Neal to visit DC soon, and joked that he might let Neal drive the Aston Martin once, “for old times’ sake.”

When the Lombards were gone, Henry shook his head. “You have to take him up on that, Neal. And bring me along when you do. I’ve been trying for years to get behind the wheel of that car.”

Soon Henry said it was time to go, and Peter and Elizabeth joined them on the way down to the parking garage. As soon as Neal saw they were parked right beside Henry’s rental, he was suspicious. Equally suspicious was the fact that Peter was still driving the SUV he’d rented for the trip to the cabin.

“Either you’re planning a crime, or you’re about to spring another birthday surprise,” Neal said.

Peter popped the back of the SUV. “Surprise.”

There were art supplies. This was high quality stuff. Painting wasn’t exactly a cheap hobby, not if you wanted the kind of results Neal liked to produce. Here were the highest quality oil paints and canvases. Lots of canvases. “A blank slate, a fresh start,” said Peter. “Whatever analogy you want to use, that seemed appropriate. The canvases are from us. The rest is a gift from your family.”

“I thought being stared at while you opened presents might not be your favorite thing,” Henry added. “So I told them I’d deliver everything after the party.”

“This is amazing,” said Neal. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Save your breath for carrying this stuff up to your loft,” Peter suggested. “We’ll follow you there.”

On the drive over to the mansion, Henry said, “Dressa asked for a Neal Caffrey original when you have the time.”

Neal thought about the piece he’d been working on right before the Highbury case, the one that reflected his hopes and fears about reconnecting with his family. He hadn’t been able to finish it then, but now he thought he could. “I have one in mind for her.” Going back over this evening he said, “That was clever, adding people to the party a few at a time. The big family event didn’t seem as overwhelming as I expected.”

“Like I said, lunch was practice. I watched how you reacted to that and then adjusted the evening plans to what would make you most comfortable. I wanted to avoid freaking you out on your birthday.”

“I think Angela’s right. You’re annoying at times, but you really have the big brother thing down.” There was really only one thing he could say, encompassing not only the party but also years of friendship. “Thanks.”

Then Henry asked the same question he posed at the end of each birthday, “You up for one more year of chaos?”

“Bring it on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the lunch guests are characters from my story By the Book. Trent Lombard and his classic car were featured in Caffrey Envoy. Thanks to Silbrith for her skills and patience as a beta reader. And thanks everyone for reading. There had been several requests for a return of the grandparents and Trent, and I hope you enjoyed the fluffy family reunion. The next chapter takes us back to the FBI and the case.


	30. Mr. Hyde

**Graham’s hotel suite. Monday morning. March 8, 2004.**

Last night the hotel suite had been the setting for Neal’s birthday party, filled with laughter, music, even dancing. Now the suite’s dining area had been turned into a war room, filled with FBI agents and consultants.

Reese Hughes had called Peter early in the morning with the update from OPR. They had enough evidence to charge Hitchum, but they hadn’t been able to get much out of him about Mr. Hyde. Peter’s team would have a chance to interrogate him today, and needed to do everything they could to convince Hitchum to implicate his partner in crime.

It was now 8am, and Hughes had joined Peter in the suite, along with Jones, Tricia, Neal, Henry and Graham. Noelle was on the periphery, as she was staying at the suite and was getting breakfast from the buffet of food Graham had ordered. Tricia and Jones eyed Neal warily, not surprising since only a week ago he was getting lost in flashbacks of his childhood. Peter guessed that was another reason Noelle was hanging around: to see how Neal handled his return to work.

The hotel had conference facilities, and Graham had convinced them to wheel in a large whiteboard and other office supplies. A timeline had been drawn on the board, spanning 1990 to 2004. They had the years written, allotting the smallest space to the earlier years and the most space to 2003 and 2004. But so far no notes had been added under each year.

Hughes put down his cup of coffee to stand in front of the board. “You’ve done good work over the last few weeks. The arrests of Dixon, Churchill and others from Highbury, Seamus Bickerton and August Hitchum is something to be proud of. But we know they are the tip of the iceberg. We have a long road ahead of us to find Vincent Adler. And we still don’t have enough evidence to get a warrant to arrest our suspected Mr. Hyde. We get one shot at interrogating Hitchum before OPR takes him back to DC to face charges. We have to get this right. And it won’t be easy. Hitchum has decades of experience being in our shoes, interrogating suspects. He knows our tricks, knows what we’re allowed to do and what we can’t do. We need to go into this fully prepared. Agent Wiese?”

Tricia stood up. “On Thursday and Friday, Jones and I went over the Highbury and Bickerton files, building a timeline. Jones is going to put what we have on the board.” Jones stood, file folder in hand, and started placing sticky notes along the timeline. “Blue stickies represent what we learned from employees of Highbury. Orange represents what we learned from Bickerton. We used yellow for what we got from Hitchum. We also met with Mr. Winslow about what Win-Win has learned, and those are on green.”

Graham held up a file folder. “You want me to add mine?”

Henry took the folder. “I’ll do it. I want to read them, anyway.” He stood and joined Jones at the whiteboard, but he worked slower because he paused to read each note before he posted it.

Tricia continued, “We’ve placed red dots on the notes that are speculation or inferences. Those help us, but we can’t use them to gain a warrant or to get a conviction. These are the areas where we need Hitchum’s help.”

Soon all the notes were on the board, and everyone read through the timeline. It started in 1990, with Robert Winslow making the transition from Baltimore PD detective to Win-Win investigator. After everyone else read through the timeline and sat down, Graham remained at the board to say, “When Robert joined Win-Win, I was CEO. He was full of ambition, certain he’d follow in my footsteps, and that his son would follow in his. I was happy to think of a family legacy, and pleased with what I was already seeing of Henry’s talents. Two years later, Noelle filed for divorce. Robert and I were both concerned that she would turn Henry against Win-Win, and I did my part to make sure my grandson still had ties to the company.”

Noelle raised her glass of orange juice in a toast to her ex-father-in-law. “You were certainly wily.” She met the curious looks of the non-Winslows in the room and said, “I was already a professor making a good salary. Alimony wasn’t a concern in the divorce settlements. But Graham insisted that half of Robert’s shares in Win-Win go to me. That meant I had a seat on the board of directors and had to stay involved with the company. And it meant I continued to take Henry to company events like the annual picnic, the Christmas party, and so forth.”

Graham nodded. “I knew Robert was obsessed with the family business, but it was an obsession I could understand and appreciate. When Noelle filed for divorce, I thought she was overreacting. It wasn’t until 2000 that I had any concerns. Robert had reached his ten-year anniversary with Win-Win, and was getting antsy. He was complaining about not getting enough recognition and advancement, and all I could say was he hadn’t earned it. He was an excellent investigator, but wasn’t a leader. I was looking to retire within the next five years, and knew Robert wasn’t ready to take over. I started looking to Allen Winston as an alternative replacement for me. Robert made it clear he wasn’t happy about that, but I never believed he’d sabotage the company or break the law. He’d been merciless in making people stick to legal means of solving cases, and had no sympathy for criminals. I honestly thought he needed a little more compassion and understanding for people who find themselves in gray areas. I thought he couldn’t bend. I still can’t believe I read him so wrong. Noelle, you got any insight on that?”

“You thought Robert was like Peter, someone dedicated to the law because he believed in it. But Robert was dedicated to whatever would gain him approval and advancement. Some of that comes from being a middle child trying to outshine his older and younger siblings, but most of it was what’s often called _sociopathy_. He has no empathy for others. That made the law very relatable to him. The law is black and white, without mercy or empathy. Robert clung to a legalistic perspective because Win-Win approved of that, and he wanted success at Win-Win. But he abandoned that approach when it inhibited his success. The most likely scenario is that he developed a jealousy of criminals who weren’t bound by the law, and started blaming his lack of success on being constrained by being a good, law-abiding person. He justified breaking the law in order to stop people who weren’t constrained by it, and he kept stretching the law farther and farther until he finally abandoned it as irrelevant to him. Finally, he reached a point where he believed that anything that gets him what he wants is good and acceptable, and nothing is off-limits to stop people he perceives as his enemies.”

There was silence for a moment, as Graham simply looked sad. But then Tricia picked up the review of timeline. “That left us in 2000, a time when Robert Winslow was getting frustrated with his inability to prove he was a worthy successor of Graham. In that year, Robert Winslow was working a case of embezzlement. A company in DC had lost tens of millions of dollars, and hired Win-Win to look into it even though they knew the FBI was investigating. The FBI agent on the case was Hitchum. It was a complex case, but after more than a month of investigation, both the FBI and Win-Win were nearly ready to prove who had done the embezzling. At that point, a large amount of money was transferred from an account belonging to Robert Winslow to an offshore bank. Suddenly Agent Hitchum reported he’d hit a dead end. Win-Win solved the case, an arrest was made, and Hitchum simply went on to the next case.”

Peter hated the pained look on Graham’s face, but he had to say it. “The assumption being that Robert paid off an FBI agent in order to get the credit for solving a major case.”

“Exactly,” Tricia said. “But it isn’t until 2001 that we see proof on our end. That’s when Hitchum made a withdrawal from the same offshore bank. He confirmed to OPR that he had planned to leave that account untouched until after he retired, but an unexpected expense came up and he took the risk of accessing the offshore account. That summer, the influx of cash showed up in an internal audit of FBI agents and Hitchum would have been investigated for suspicion of bribery, but then 9/11 happened and internal audits took a lower priority than terrorism investigations. The stress of what he’d done, and of almost getting caught, took a toll on Hitchum. He ended up getting divorced and requested a transfer from DC up here to New York, looking for a fresh start.”

“And he claims he didn’t know who in Win-Win bribed him?” Peter asked.

“He says he can’t tell us,” Tricia said. “That could cover anything from not knowing to being afraid to reveal his identity. According to the interview transcripts, OPR asked him a few times to name the guy, but it clearly wasn’t their top priority. They didn’t push very hard. Their questions are much more focused on finding out if anyone else in the Bureau was involved.”

“What did they determine?” Peter asked.

Hughes spoke up. “With regard to his interactions with Win-Win, Hitchum acted alone. When it comes to Adler it seems likely that more people were involved to enable his getaway, but they kept their identities hidden. That will be an ongoing investigation.”

“Getting back to the timeline,” Tricia said, “2001 is also when Neal enters the picture.”

“I can take this part,” Henry said. He looked pained, and so did Neal. “I guess distance makes the heart grow softer, because I was ready to start over with Dad. I had this fantasy built up where Dad would meet Neal, recognize how smart and talented he was, and want to bring both of us into the family business. Instead he asked Neal to prove his talents by forging those Atlantic bonds, and then…” Henry paused, taking a deep breath.

And Neal jumped in with, “And when I succeeded he claimed I was a born criminal who was infecting Henry with my ingrained evil. He blackmailed me, saying he’d give the bonds and evidence I’d created them to the cops, unless I left Baltimore and ended all contact with Henry.”

“He also collected your fingerprints and a photo,” Tricia added, “and sent them to Hitchum, asking to be informed if you showed up in any FBI investigations.”

It was obvious from the reactions of Henry and Neal that they hadn’t been aware of that.

“Did he do that as Mr. Hyde?” Noelle asked. “Or as Robert Winslow?”

“Under his real name,” Tricia confirmed. “Hitchum said he’d met Robert in the course of investigating similar cases over the years in the DC area, and that Robert reached out to him when he had reason to believe Neal was heading to New York. Robert claimed to be acting as a concerned citizen and a concerned father of a son who had fallen under a con artist’s spell.”

“Yeah, right,” said Henry.

“At least it establishes a relationship between Hitchum and Robert,” Noelle said. “It proves they knew one another, and that they would recognize each other’s voices.”

“By the next year it had escalated,” Tricia continued. “Yesterday Hitchum admitted to what Neal had already discovered: in 2002 he started listing Neal as a suspect in several unsolved crimes. And he told OPR that was at Robert’s request.”

“Neal discovered it?” Peter interrupted. “When was that?”

“Early last week,” Tricia answered.

“Is that so surprising?” Neal asked. “I thought you believed I was good at this stuff.”

“At the fieldwork sure, and at piecing together how someone got away with a crime. But this is a different type of analysis, and something you did when you were still impaired by flashbacks. That’s damned impressive. It should go in your file as something to remember for your annual review.”

Neal nodded, but with an expression of wariness at the thought of the annual review process. Peter did some quick math and realized they would hit Neal’s 90-day anniversary and kick off the process of setting goals in about a week. That should be interesting.

“Getting back to what happened in 2002, that’s also the year Highbury asked Win-Win to do background checks for them, and we formed a partnership with them,” Graham said. “They sent qualified job seekers our way, and we provided background checks and other security services for them. Robert was one of several people on the Win-Win side involved in that arrangement. He wasn’t heavily involved. He didn’t talk directly to Highbury’s people, but did some of the paperwork and coordination with legal to prove he had management skills, and not just investigation skills. He had responsibility for reviewing their financials to make sure they were on the up-and-up. He should have caught the discrepancies in their books when they started blackmailing clients, but when I spoke to him about it he said accounting wasn’t his strength and he’d delegated that responsibility to others in Win-Win.”

“Tell us who, Pops,” Henry insisted.

Graham looked his grandson in the eyes a moment, seeming to weigh his ability to handle the news. “To a variety of people over the years. Lastly to you.” He paused. “You know I never believed you were in on the blackmail scheme. But I would have believed that following up on their accounting wasn’t something you were excited about.”

“And maybe I put it on the back burner rather than keep up with it and catch the discrepancies?”

“Something like that. It was the first time Robert implied maybe you weren’t the paragon he’d always claimed you were. I can’t say it worried me, not until I looked into things last week and realized he was going to great lengths to harm your reputation at Win-Win. The records make it clear that you never had any involvement with Highbury.”

“I didn’t even know we had a partnership with them,” Henry added. “And if someone asked me to look into anyone’s books, I’d have gotten one of our accountants involved first thing.” Henry looked and sounded too tightly wound. Peter wished they could spare him this, but having been falsely accused, he deserved to hear the facts.

“I think we’re out of coffee,” Neal said, standing at the buffet and peering into the coffee urn. Peter wasn’t at all surprised that Neal was causing a distraction. They both knew Henry needed a break, and that he would never admit it. “There’s a gourmet coffee shop down in the lobby. How about I take everyone’s orders and grab us more caffeine?”

Peter waited until Neal wrote down everyone’s orders and then said, “That sounds like more than you can carry alone in one trip. Need some help?”

“I got it,” Neal said.

“You still can’t accept help?” Henry complained. “This is ridiculous. I’ll go with you.”

Neal winked at Peter when Henry was looking in the other direction. And Peter smiled in satisfaction. He might not be at the “twin-speak” level of communicating with Neal, but he thought they already made a good team.

When the cousins left the suite Peter asked, “Anything we should cover while they’re gone?”

“We’re at 2003 now,” said Graham. He looked sad and tired, showing his true age for once. “That’s when Henry came to work for Win-Win. He won’t tell me how Robert talked him into it, but I remember Robert claiming it as a major recruiting success.”

Peter considered for a moment and decided to let Graham know what Henry had shared with him in January. “Robert blackmailed him. He used the same leverage he’d used on Neal. If Henry joined the family business and stayed for three years, Robert wouldn’t have Neal arrested for forging those bonds. He added what Henry described as a morals clause: that Henry would be fired if he associated with a convicted felon. Robert must have been fairly certain that Neal would be arrested soon. It seems like Robert was obsessed with keeping Neal from having influence over Henry.”

“All of Robert’s relationships centered around Win-Win,” Noelle added. “In his mind, Henry existed to be his successor at Win-Win, and anything that stood in the way of that goal had to be eliminated. I’m sure Henry’s friendship with Neal baffled and scared him. It would have been easy to blame Neal whenever Henry didn’t behave as Robert wanted and expected. And when Henry started to become a favorite with the executives, outshining Robert, that would have been the last straw. Robert wasn’t going to stand by and let Henry take the role that had been Robert’s dream. Robert couldn’t accept being passed over for the job of CEO, especially for someone who wasn’t even sure he wanted the job. Several people have been going out of their way to convince Henry that he’d be a great CEO. No one had ever done that for Robert. And that made Henry his enemy. With Neal still to blame for corrupting him, of course.”

“And that’s his motive for wanting to kill Neal,” Tricia said.

“’Scuse me a moment,” Graham said, sounding a bit choked up. He walked to the powder room, and returned about the same time Neal and Henry arrived with the coffee.

With everyone settled back around the dining room table with their beverage of choice, Tricia picked up the overview again. “We’re at 2003, now. Adler had plans to disappear with the funds of his investment firm. He wanted to make sure that he and his money wouldn’t be found, and he looked into the people most likely be assigned to investigate him. He noticed the large sum of money Hitchum withdrew from an offshore account, and realized it indicated a bribe. In our follow-up interview with Bickerton, he confirmed that he contacted Hitchum after Adler disappeared, with a combination of bribe and blackmail. If Hitchum made sure certain details disappeared from the case file, Bickerton wouldn’t expose the earlier bribe, and Hitchum would receive additional funds at his retirement if Adler and his money remained undiscovered. Hitchum is responsible for our not realizing that Gil Goddard was an alias, and for Kate Moreau disappearing from the employee records. That’s why she was never even questioned about Adler. But here’s where things get even more complex. There’s a photo in the Adler file, a shot from a newspaper of Adler talking to the press with members of his team standing beside him. Neal’s in that shot. Hitchum identified the people in that photo, and he never pointed out that Nick Halden from Adler’s team matched the sketch of James Bonds in our case files, who matched Neal Caffrey in the photo Robert Winslow had supplied. He could have tied all of those together, and he didn’t.”

“Why not?” asked Neal.

“He said Mr. Hyde asked him not to.” Tricia nodded at the expressions of surprise around the room. “I know, it seems to go against our belief that Robert is Mr. Hyde. Here’s where we’re heading into speculation. Suppose Robert’s feeling desperate for a big success at Win-Win. As much as he’d like to see Neal questioned and perhaps arrested as a result of his association with Adler, he would much rather have Neal free and possibly lead him to Adler. I think at this point, Robert’s goal is to find Adler ahead of anyone else, impressing his bosses at Win-Win to the extent that they’ll consider him as the next CEO. In his role of reviewing Highbury finances, he notices that the client list suddenly includes a lot of former Adler employees looking for new work. And he also hears that Win-Win is going to invest in the clinical trials for a new drug that has some properties of a truth serum. What we’ve got here is motive and opportunity. Robert knows about Flashback and is in a position to make contacts who could get him access to the drug. He supplies it to Highbury in order to gain information from Adler’s former team, and looks the other way when Dixon and Churchill expand the scheme into blackmail of their clients. Robert also encourages them to recruit Neal – or Nick Halden – to learn what he knows about Adler. That means that, at least temporarily, Robert wants Neal to stay free. It also means that he probably got a warning from Hitchum the first time we investigated Highbury, and he helped them avoid formal charges.”

“Meanwhile, we recruited Neal and forgave his past crimes, giving immunity in return for a confession. And in the process we learned about his connection to Adler and to Kate,” Peter added.

“Fast forward to Highbury making another attempt to recruit me,” Neal said.

“And that made us suspicious,” Tricia said. “So many people were contacting you at once to go to Enscombe, it reeked of desperation. That’s not Adler’s style. But it makes sense if Robert is Mr. Hyde. Even though reopening the Adler case was officially secret, we didn’t seal the file. Hitchum was in the habit of checking it daily for updates, and immediately noticed when we started looking into Adler again, with you involved this time. Robert wanted whatever information you had before the FBI could act on it, and that led to a frenzied effort to get you into Highbury, where they could question you and then kill you before you could share what you knew with anyone else. Hitchum told Robert about Bickerton. He started pressuring Bickerton to get you to Enscombe, and then to grab you at the hospital when you survived the overdose.”

“Robert has to be the one who called Meredith,” Noelle said. “We should be able to get evidence that he tracked and intimidated someone in WITSEC. We can go through official channels, asking the Marshals to talk to her. She would have recognized Robert’s voice when he called to tell her Neal was fighting for his life in the hospital.”

“Why?” Neal asked. “What did he gain by calling her?”

“Control,” Peter guessed. “By calling her, talking to her, he confirmed her location. He gave that information to Bickerton. That’s what he was going to use to convince you to leave the hospital with him. If you refused to go, he was going to share her location with your father’s enemies.”

“That certainly gives us a reason for a warrant, if the Marshals cooperate,” Hughes said.

“I get why Robert wanted the overdose at Enscombe to be lethal,” Jones said. “But why go after Neal at the hospital? I don’t see what he gains.”

“He hates me,” Neal suggested. “He doesn’t have to be rational about it.”

“Neal’s in the center of so much of this,” Peter added. “At the hospital, waiting to see if Neal would wake up, I wondered if we could put everything together and find who was pulling the strings without Neal’s insights.”

“He did it to hurt Henry,” Noelle said.

The room fell silent. Finally Henry said, “I would have been devastated if Neal died. I wouldn’t have been able to help with the case, and I’d probably have walked away from Win-Win. I still might do that, but if I’d been grieving for Neal I definitely wouldn’t have been any kind of rival for the CEO role.”

“And when his attempts to kill Neal failed, making you look like the person who tried to kill Neal was the next most painful punishment he could devise,” Noelle added. “He didn’t have time to make it stand up to serious scrutiny, but the allegations caused confusion and delays while he ran away, and it caused pain to the people he thinks of as his enemies.”

“We have good work here. The information is coming together, and our inferences make sense,” said Hughes. “But we’d be in a lot better shape if Hitchum identified Robert Winslow as Mr. Hyde. We need an approach that will convince Hitchum to make that connection for us. That won’t be easy, since he has some unknown motivation to protect Mr. Hyde, and he knows most of the information we have in our files about the Alder and Highbury cases. He also knows us. He knows how we work and our limitations in interrogations. Let’s hear some options.”

“I have an idea,” said Graham.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

They gave Hitchum what he expected. Peter and Tricia interrogated him, asking him to fill in the blanks about the case and about Mr. Hyde. He remained calm and told them nothing new.

Neal, Graham and Noelle watched from behind the glass wall, where they could see, but not be seen. Henry had disappeared with Jones for a while, but returned in time to catch the last 20 minutes of the interrogation.

Then Peter opened the door to the interrogation room around 11:30 and said, “We’re ready for you now.”

A woman entered the room. She wore rumpled navy blue slacks, a white cotton blouse, and an emerald scarf that set off her green eyes. The scarf was expensive, but slightly askew. She wore her blond hair pulled back at her neck in a twist that looked ready to fall apart at any minute.

“You have 15 minutes with him,” Peter said.

“That’s 15 more than I want,” the woman said. She sat down, placing an oversized canvas bag on the table. Peter and Tricia left and shut the door behind them while the woman rooted around for a pad of paper and pen. She pulled them out, placed the bag on the floor, and straightened her dark-framed glasses. “Ok, let’s get this over with.”

For the first time all morning, Hitchum looked surprised. “Who are you?”

“They didn’t tell you? Well, this just gets better and better. I’m Meg Winston, from Winston-Winslow. I’m the only employee who was in the New York area, and they pulled me from my vacation to talk to you. I’m as thrilled about this as you are, I’m sure.”

Peter and Tricia joined the group watching from behind the glass wall. “Meg?” Neal said quietly to Henry as they watched Noelle talking to Hitchum.

“Short for Armageddon,” Henry replied, referring to a set of Caffrey family code names. “One of her favorite aliases.”

“You’re not employed by the FBI?” Hitchum asked.

“As if. I thought you knew about Win-Win. Not big fans of the FBI.”

“You’re not consulting with the Bureau? I heard they had a couple of Winslows on contract: Graham and Henry.”

“Above my pay grade. I’m barely a step up from a receptionist. As far as I know, I’m not allowed to contract or consult with anyone else. I’ve got a list of questions.” She flipped through her notebook and finally settled on a page that had writing on it. “I hope to God these make sense to you. Ok. First question. Robert Winslow has disappeared. Any idea where he’s gone?”

“He’s missing?”

“Ok, that doesn’t sound promising. You know where he might go?”

“No idea.”

“Well, this will go fast, at least. He left behind some kind of rant about someone named Neal Caffrey. What’s the deal with him?”

“You really have no idea what’s going on here, do you?”

“You’re a real genius, aren’t you?” Noelle countered. “So you’re ignorant of this Caffrey person, too. You know, I could be at a spa. I’d kill for a decent manicure. I had an appointment with a nail artist right now. She was going to put little bunnies on my nails. You married? You should tell your wife about this manicurist.”

“Divorced,” Hitchum said stiffly.

“Yeah? You know, Robert was divorced. We were kind of surprised when his son joined Win-Win. Everyone thought the kid was gone for good, you know? You got kids?”

Hitchum looked a little bewildered. “I have a son. He’s a senior at George Washington University.”

“Expensive. I hope he got a scholarship.”

“He did, but it doesn’t cover everything.”

“Yeah? What are you on the hook for?”

“Books, his apartment and meals. It’s an expensive place to live.”

“Why doesn’t he get a job? I swear, if I had kids they’d be working their way through school.”

“He did at first. Then he was in an accident. A drunk driver plowed right into his car. There were medical expenses. I’m still paying off what the insurance didn’t cover. He’s better now, but keeping up with classes is all he can handle on top of the physical therapy. He doesn’t have the time or energy for a job right now.”

“Aww, man, that’s awful. Divorce, the accident, and now you’re in trouble with the FBI. Some people can’t catch a break, can they? So, let’s see. I lost track of where we were. Did you know anything about this Neal Caffrey person?”

“I know too much about him. There’s someone who gets all the breaks. He went out and committed all kinds of crimes, and skates on by. He cries on Peter’s shoulder and gets immunity. It’s not like he’s even sorry, but all is forgiven and he’s everyone’s golden boy. Me, I make one little mistake and have to live in terror of getting caught. I got so stressed out my marriage fell apart, and finally I moved to make a fresh start, but I can’t ever get away from it.”

“Where’s the justice in that?” Noelle asked.

“That’s what I’m saying! You know, Robert used to say that, too. ‘Where’s the justice for guys like us?’ The weird thing is, I used to blame Robert for a lot of this. If he hadn’t come along when he did, I might have made some different choices. But in the end I was glad for the money and realized we had a lot in common. We both made some decisions that could get us in trouble, but we were both looking out for our kids. That Neal Caffrey we were talking about, he was always getting Robert’s son in trouble. Robert asked me to keep an eye out, let him know if I heard anything about Caffrey or his whereabouts, to help keep him away from Henry.”

“You know, it’s funny. Robert’s not all that popular back at the office. I don’t run in his crowd of course, but he has kind of reputation for being a jerk. And now here you’re singing his praises. It’s like that Dr. Jekyll thing, isn’t it?”

Hitchum laughed. “He’d appreciate the comparison. That must be his favorite book. He’s always referring to it. Talking about how to be good, he has to play the bad guy sometimes. The rules, they don’t always let the good guy win. But Robert was determined to win, for his son. No matter what it takes. I can identify with that.”

Noelle scanned down the page of her notepad. “Whoa. This says you were going to kill this Neal Caffrey person for Robert? And you’re an FBI agent?”

“You don’t understand how insidious Caffrey is. Some people can’t be stopped. As long as he’s alive, he’s going to be taking advantage of someone. He smiles and gets his way, and the rest of us pay. It wasn’t until I met him that I understood where Robert was coming from. When he said someone had to put a stop to him, and had a plan to get him someplace where a body could easily be disposed of, I had to help. It’s like being an exterminator. You gotta get rid of the vermin, or they’ll take over.”

“Robert really planned a murder? I honestly didn’t think he had the nerve.”

“Yeah, he kept telling me they underestimated him back at Win-Win. Robert had it all planned out, but that fool Bickerton couldn’t get Caffrey away from the hospital.”

“Bickerton. I remember that name. Hold on.” Noelle pulled out her phone and scrolled through messages. “Oh, he didn’t make it.”

“What?”

“Someone shot Bickerton. He died this morning. Do you think it was Robert? I wouldn’t have guessed it, but you’re saying he really has the nerve to kill someone who stands in his way.”

“I…” Hitchum picked up his glass of water and drank deeply. “I guess. I mean, Robert’s got some rage, and Bickerton did mess up.”

“Good thing you and Robert are pals, then. I wouldn’t want him coming after me. You didn’t let him down, did you?”

“Nooo… I always came through for him. He might be a little disappointed that I couldn’t provide everything he wanted, but I told him it was a long shot. I never promised more than I could deliver.”

“That’s good then. I’m sure he’ll be reasonable. Except, I mean, you’ve heard about his son, right?”

Hitchum shook his head. “I don’t think I follow. What about his son?”

“Well, you keep talking about how Robert was doing everything for his son. Henry. Well, Robert went on the run Friday, and last thing he did before he bailed was leave a lot of evidence pointing to Henry. Making it look like Henry was someone called Mr. Hyde, who was blackmailing people and trying to arrange to have Neal Caffrey murdered. It’s pretty obvious it wasn’t Henry, but it’s weird Robert would do that, since he was doing everything for Henry’s benefit. I can’t say I get it. Oh, you know, I just noticed. Mr. Hyde. And we were talking about Dr. Jekyll. Who do you suppose was Mr. Hyde if it wasn’t Henry? Was it you? I could see that. You’re partners, right? Jekyll and Hyde. Well of course you’re Hyde.” She closed her notebook. “That was my last question. I figured out who’s Mr. Hyde. Maybe I could become an investigator one of these days. I guess that covers it, then.” She picked up her bag and stood up.

“I’m not Mr. Hyde!” Hitchum yelled.

“Sorry. Did I get it backwards? You’re Jekyll and Robert’s Mr. Hyde?”

“You’re seriously telling me he turned on his own son, and you can’t figure out that he’s Mr. Hyde? Of course Robert is Mr. Hyde. He was behind everything. I wasn’t a partner. I was a pawn. Get Agent Burke back in here. I need to make a deal before Robert turns on me, too.”

“Umm. Ok. Agent Burke. Tall guy, brown eyes?” She opened the door and looked outside. “Is there an Agent Burke around here?”

Peter stepped into the room to continue questioning a much more compliant Hitchum. And on the other side of the glass Neal said, “Got him. Got them both. Hitchum and Robert are toast.”

Noelle walked up to where Neal and Henry were seated, and put her arms around both of them. “For all of Robert’s disdain for your father, Neal, he was just as bad as James.”

“You’re a decent con artist, you know,” Neal said.

“Your grandmother would say we inherited her acting skills.” Noelle pulled up a chair beside Neal. “I have to change out of these clothes or I’ll go crazy, but first I want to make sure you’re clear about something, sweetie. Everything Hitchum said about you was lie, an excuse he made up to soothe his conscience. You are a good person. That’s what Peter saw in you; that’s why he arranged immunity. You aren’t getting a free ride. You didn’t deserve anything that Robert or Hitchum did or planned to do. They are to blame for all of their actions. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to Henry. “That goes for you, too, sweetheart. Your father used you as an excuse because that was the easiest way to manipulate Hitchum. You didn’t cause Robert to do anything, and you aren’t to blame for his actions. Are we clear on that?”

Like Neal, Henry said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. I’ll see you back at the hotel. I think a family dinner this evening is definitely in order. We’ll go anyplace the two of you want.”

“I’ll second that,” Graham said. “All of it, not just the dinner invitation.”

After Noelle was gone, Henry stood up. “You have the afternoon off, Neal. I’ve got something in mind, if you’re up to it.”

Neal nodded. As they waited for the elevator he asked, “What do you have in mind?”

“We’re going to talk to Kate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week’s chapter sends Peter to the rescue when Neal and Henry get in over their heads, and that will lead to the requested scene of Neal in trouble for recklessness. Thanks so much to beta reader Silbrith for her awesome editing skills that I take for granted. And thanks everyone for reading this far. Only 2 or 3 chapters left in this story.


	31. Closure

**Airstrip near the Hudson. Monday afternoon. March 8, 2004.**

A limo had picked them up in front of the Federal Building. Mozzie drove as Henry outlined what to expect. The passports Neal had liberated from the safe at Enscombe had contained a code suspected to reveal Adler’s location. Kate had the passports now, but she’d given Neal the bond that held the key to cracking the code. That bond had been in his jacket pocket when Jane Fairfax had spilled potpourri all over him. That jacket had gone to the Enscombe laundry. When the FBI came in and made their arrest, they found the jacket, but not before Mozzie took the bond. With Neal still out of it in the hospital, Mozz had given the bond to Henry, who had made a deal with Kate.

Now Kate and her father were ready to leave New York and join Adler. They had a plane and pilot, and only needed the passports to be decoded before they could leave. That’s where Mozzie came in. He had a laptop and supplies in the trunk of the limo, and when they arrived at the hangar he set up an impromptu office. Kate gave Mozzie the passports, and Henry handed over the bond. Mozzie soon had headphones on, lost in his own world as he listened to _Don Giovanni_ and studied the code.

The pilot was walking around the plane, going through a pre-flight checklist. Kate’s father stood outside the hangar, keeping watch. Kate spoke to him, and then walked over to Neal and Henry.

“We keep the passports Adler made for Neal,” Henry said. “That’s the deal. Neal never asked for them, and their existence is only going to make trouble for him. The minute Mozzie is done with them, we burn those passports and the bond. There will be no evidence they ever existed.”

Kate nodded. “They’re yours. What you do with them is up to you.”

“I’m going to check on Mozzie,” Henry said. But Neal knew it was too soon for Mozzie to have made any progress. He was giving Neal a chance to say goodbye to Kate.

Over the last few weeks, Neal had started to make his peace with the fact that he and Kate were going in opposite directions. It hurt, and it would probably take a long time for the pain to fade. Talking to her, getting some answers, would help. Trust Henry to understand, and to make sure Neal got that chance. It was hard to jump into the questions he really wanted to ask, and instead he started with, “Were you always in on Adler’s plan?”

Kate shook her head. “Vincent doesn’t let anyone that close. We knew about the Ponzi scheme, and that he had a plan to get out before anyone caught on, but he didn’t tell anyone when or how he’d escape. He’s waited the better part of a year for us to prove that we wouldn’t turn on him, and even now he’s making us show we’re clever and determined enough to join him. He won’t tolerate freeloaders. If we want in on his next job, we have to be worthy.”

“You admire him.”

“He’s brilliant.”

“Yeah, I won’t argue that,” Neal said, “but is that a good reason to drop your whole life here to join him, wherever he is? You said you weren’t the Daisy to his Gatsby. What do you get out of following him?”

“He came to my rescue at a time when I’d lost all hope. And then when I thought Dad had given up hope, he gave us a second chance. Suddenly we had a purpose, an opportunity to be part of something big, bright and exciting.”

“He was using you,” Neal countered.

“That doesn’t make it any less intriguing. You never know what he’s planning. Just imagine it, Neal. After everything he’s done, he isn’t sitting around resting on his laurels. He has something else planned, something bigger. And he’s going to let me be part of it. How can I turn that down?”

“I get it,” said Neal. And he did. Byron had described the life of a con as an addiction, and what Kate was saying wasn’t that different.

Henry had returned, standing silently off to the side. Kate hadn’t noticed him, and Neal ignored him.

“Then come with us,” Kate said. “Vincent knew right away that Nick Halden wasn’t your real name, and the more he uncovered, the more he thought you could prove useful. The only reason he didn’t let you in on the Ponzi scheme was that he didn’t know what your angle was.”

“That’s why he asked you to study me.”

Kate shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly a hardship. You’d made it clear you were interested, and I liked you. At first you were content to admire me but to stay politely out of the way while I was dating someone else. Vincent said the allure of an unrequited romance would get to you. But we pushed it too far. You gave up on me and went after Alex, instead. That’s when Vincent had me change my approach, and actually get involved with you.”

“I was an assignment,” Neal said. She’d said as much before, but it still was bitter.

“An assignment I enjoyed very much. In another life, it might have been real.”

“But in this life you’re hung up on Adler. He’s your unrequited romance that you haven’t given up on yet.”

“It’s complicated. Who knows? Maybe one of these days I’ll finally give up on him, the way you stopped chasing me to go after Alex. I think that’s what Vincent is hoping for, actually. He hinted more than once that I should fall for someone like you. And he could have made those extra passports for anyone, you know, but he picked you. He appreciates your talents, and he still says you would be a great asset. Imagine what it would be like, being an insider this time. I have no idea what he has planned, but he calls it the score of a lifetime. How can you turn that down?”

_Easily_ , Neal thought. He didn’t trust Adler, and didn’t want to put himself through watching Kate fawning over the man. She’d put him on a pedestal for years, and even now her main interest in Neal was in using him to please Adler. Shortly before he disappeared, Adler had made a comment about Neal being like a son. Neal hadn’t trusted the sentiment then, and now with Peter he knew what it really was like to have someone think of him as a son. He wasn’t about to give that up. “I’ve got everything I need here in New York.”

“If you ever change your mind –”

“Enough,” said Henry. “I already told you. The deal is you say your goodbyes and leave Neal alone. No getting in touch later to see if you can lure him over to Adler’s side.”

Before Kate could respond to that, Mozzie cried out “Eureka!” He stood up, and pulled off the headphones. “It isn’t a location. It’s a frequency.”

“What good is that if you don’t know where you’re going?” Henry asked.

“We know where we’re going,” Kate said. “Vincent supplied the plane and a pilot who knows the destination. We have to tune into the right frequency when we’re at the location where we’re supposed to join him, and then provide the code phrase. That will prove we passed his test. He said if we don’t pass the test, he’ll shoot us on sight.”

Neal refrained from saying anything about how little Kate’s idol trusted her. He took the slip of paper Mozzie was holding. “You said a frequency and a code phrase? But Mozz said this is just a frequency.”

“There’s another code?” Mozzie asked. He returned to his work area muttering, “Of course. I thought it was a double blind to obscure the first code, but it’s really a second set of data.”

“Last chance, Neal,” said Kate. “Will you come with us?”

“No. I have a life here.”

Kate’s father, the man Neal knew as Gil Goddard, had returned to the hangar. He held a gun and pointed it in Neal’s direction. “With the FBI. I heard. We’re supposed to assure Adler the Feds aren’t on our tail. How do we keep you from telling your bosses what you’ve learned here?”

_Good question_ , thought Neal. Peter would want to know this information, and Neal wasn’t going to lie to him.

“I’ll make sure of it,” Henry said. “C’mon, Neal. Promise not to tell anyone, and let’s help Mozzie wrap this up. Time’s wasting.” He tapped his watch, and Neal recognized it. Suddenly he put it all together. The time Henry had spent with Jones this morning must have involved a demo of the FBI’s surveillance tools. Neal had worn that same watch when he went undercover. It would record and broadcast a conversation to FBI equipment.

“I promise I won’t say a word about it,” Neal said. He wouldn’t have to. All he had to do was play the recording and Peter would know the truth. The FBI would also hear Kate confirming that making passports for Neal had been all Adler’s idea, and that Neal hadn’t been in on it. That would repair Neal’s reputation with the members of Peter’s team who had suspected Neal of colluding with Adler.

“And I’m supposed to believe you?” asked Gil.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Questioning Hitchum didn’t take long after Noelle left him in the right state of mind. The disgraced agent filled in the blanks, clearly naming Robert Winslow as the Mr. Hyde who had tried to have Neal murdered. As OPR led Hitchum away, Jones made his way to Peter. He looked like he had a question, but he wasn’t talking. “Something up?” Peter asked.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” Jones said. “I mean, I get that there’s a lot going on, and I’m not the most senior member of your staff. But I thought I was part of the team on this Adler investigation.”

“You were. I mean, you are. We’ll update the files with what we’ve learned, but I don’t anticipate that we’ll make much progress on that case right away.”

Jones looked confused. “What about the lead you assigned to Henry and Neal? The one Henry needed the surveillance equipment for?”

Peter shook his head. “I didn’t assign any leads to them. Henry said they were taking the afternoon off. Graham, do you know anything about this?”

“They didn’t say anything to me.” Graham frowned. “Can we listen to them?”

“Not unless they’re nearby,” said Jones. “But the equipment Henry took includes GPS. We can find them, and when we’re close enough we can pick up the feed from the watch. I still have the receiver at my desk. I can get a fix on their location from here and then complete the setup while we drive.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal, Henry and Mozzie were locked in the plane while Mozzie worked on cracking the second code. Mozz had insisted he couldn’t work while people were pointing guns around, and that he wouldn’t share what he had learned unless he and his friends were guaranteed safe passage.

Outside, Kate was arguing with her father and the pilot about what to do with the trio on the plane. As the argument grew more intense they moved away from the plane, and now Neal couldn’t make out the words. Mozzie had put the passports aside and checked out the instrumentation and paperwork at the front of the plane. “Shouldn’t you be working on the code?” Neal asked.

“Child’s play. I solved it already. I was holding back in case of a double-cross. You know, if this flight plan is correct, they’re going to the Cayman Islands, and then to Argentina.”

“Maybe we should go with them,” Henry said. He was prowling the plane. “We could beat Robert at his own game and find Adler first.”

“What are you doing?” asked Neal.

He held up a small device. “This thing has GPS. I’m going to stash it someplace, and then Peter can track the plane.”

“Are you serious about going along to Argentina?” Neal asked.

“It could be interesting,” Mozzie said. “There are so many stories about Nazis who went there after the war. I’d love to find out what they’ve really been up to. How far along are the Hitler clones, for instance.”

“Do you really want to meet a Hitler clone? No. Don’t answer that. Henry, how about you fill us in on the rest of the plan? Does Peter know where we are?”

“I’m sure he’s figured it out by now,” said Henry with complete nonchalance. “I made some comments to Jones that will bother him, and when he asks Peter about it, they’ll put it all together.”

“And that’s the plan? The FBI rushes in with guns blazing, arrest Kate and Gil and the pilot, and we go free? Then why bother with stashing the GPS device in here?”

“Contingency plan,” said Henry.

“We really need to avoid the guns blazing piece of that plan,” Mozzie said. “This plane is filled with explosives. We’re sitting inside a bomb. See these wires?” He pulled down a piece of trim that ran the length of the plane’s ceiling. Neal had assumed they were for emergency lighting, but when Mozzie slid a ceiling panel out of place, the wires led to explosives. Mozzie slid the panel and trim back in place.

“Why?” Neal asked.

Henry opened an overhead baggage compartment. “Parachutes. Fly to a deserted area, jump out and blow up the plane. If anyone is tracking the plane, they’ll assume everyone died.”

“Adler either hears the correct code and waits for them to jump first, or blows it up with them inside if they get it wrong,” Mozzie said. “It certainly gives them an incentive to get it right.”

“Definitely not going with them,” said Henry. “Only three parachutes.”

“We need to avoid the FBI arresting them part, too,” said Neal.   “What we really need right now is Robert Winslow.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter, Graham and Jones had arrived in time to hear Mozzie talking about Hitler clones and then describe the plane as a bomb. That had been bad enough. Peter grew even more grim as he listened to Neal’s plan. Finally he called Neal’s cell phone, hoping that it hadn’t been confiscated, and was relieved when Neal answered. “Put us on speaker,” Peter ordered. “We’ve been listening for a few minutes, but fill us on your situation. Why are you in that plane?”

Neal caught them up and then asked, “Can you get what we need?”

“Jones is on it. He’s estimating 40 minutes for the supplies to get here. Can you hold out that long?”

“Yeah, Mozzie has that covered. He’s talking to them now, telling them he has low blood sugar and can’t finish the second code until he gets a very specific lunch. There’s a place near here that will deliver what he’s asking for, but we’re looking at 30 minutes for his order to arrive.”

“We’ll stay out of sight. But Neal, when this is over we are having a long talk.”

“Don’t blame him. It’s my fault,” Henry said.

“Glad to hear you admit it,” said Graham. “We’ll be having a talk, too.”

“Oh.” Henry sounded surprised to hear his grandfather. “Sure thing, Pops.”

They hung up and continued preparing for a nightmare impromptu undercover op. Mozzie was apparently waiting outside the plane for his food to arrive. Neal and Henry were quiet at first, but then Peter heard them again over the feed from the watch.

_“You really want to catch Adler?” Neal asked._

_Henry huffed out a laugh that didn’t sound particularly amused. “Wouldn’t Robert hate that?” He was silent a moment and then said, “I get that letting Kate and her dad escape is to give them and Adler a false sense of security. They don’t know Mozzie knows how to read a flight plan, or that I’m leaving the GPS tracker in here. Letting them get away actually gets us closer to Adler than if we arrested them. What happens next?”_

_“Nothing,” said Neal. “You heard what Hughes said this morning. There are more people in the FBI under Adler’s thumb. They’re going to let him know that Bickerton and Hitchum were arrested. They also need to tell him that the Bureau believes Kate and Gil got away, and that the case is closed. He needs to hear weeks, even months, of no activity. At least not from the Bureau. The only way to catch him is to turn the case over to Win-Win. He doesn’t have an insider there.”_

_“Hughes and Peter aren’t going to like that,” Henry warned._

_“I know, but in the end they’ll agree it’s the only option. And they can still be involved. If you and Graham can consult for the Bureau, then Peter and some of his team can consult for Win-Win.”_

_“The consulting agreement can’t explicitly mention Adler.”_

_“Right. But after firing Robert, Win-Win has to acknowledge that they need an outside agency to help them uncover everything he was up to, and to confirm whether or not he was working alone. That’s what the agreement will officially cover.”_

_“Graham and Allen and the board won’t like that.”_

_“It’s essentially a family company. They need to admit they have a bias and work with someone without that bias to clean things up. Especially if they want a chance to work the Adler case.”_

_There was another pause, and then Henry said, “We’ll make a good team.”_

_“Yeah, but not on this case. Peter’s not going to want me anywhere near it after he gets us out of here. Same thing with Graham. He’s going to make you take that leave of absence you’ve been talking about.”_

_“True.” Henry sighed. “He’s going to say Mom’s right, and he finally agrees I’m too young to be the CEO.”_

_“Too immature,” Neal corrected._

_“Right back at you.”_

_“If Peter has his way there are going to be a lot of boring, safe mortgage fraud cases in my near future.”_

_There was a tapping sound, probably Henry tapping a finger on the watch. “You think they’ll be impressed by how sensible we’re being now and have pity on us?”_

_“Not really.”_

“He’s got that right,” said Peter.

“Good thinking about the Adler case, though,” said Graham. “If you really want to catch that guy, it can’t be through standard Bureau channels.”

Peter grunted a non-committal response.

“I know exactly how you feel. But better get used to it. If Henry decides to stay with Win-Win and you keep Neal around, that’s going to be the new normal. The FBI and Win-Win actually getting along and collaborating. Making the best use of each side’s strengths.”

Peter was surprised to hear Graham so accepting of that change in direction. “I thought you’d be fighting it.”

“Plenty of people will,” Graham acknowledged. “I have a fight ahead of me on the board. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the last few days. I keep coming back to what happened in 2000. If Robert had contacted your Agent Hitchum with an offer of partnership instead of a bribe, both of them would be in very different places now. A lot of that stems from the Win-Win culture of competing with the FBI, and I’ve perpetuated that. I don’t want that to be my final legacy.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Jones and Graham waited in the shadows while Peter approached the hangar. He’d given Jones his badge and gun, taking instead the weapon Jones had arranged. He’d practiced with it once before, but that had been months ago. He hoped like hell this worked. If it didn’t, someone was probably going to die.

Kate and her dad weren’t murderers, as far as he could tell. Henry described them over the feed as more venal than criminal masterminds. But you never knew what a desperate person might do. The pilot was another matter. Neal had found the pilot’s name in the paperwork in the cockpit, and Peter had run it. The guy had a reputation for violence on two continents, and ran with a dangerous crowd. The pilot probably knew how much information Neal and Henry and Mozzie could gain about him and the flight destination while locked up in the plane. He’d be motivated to silence them permanently.

Mozzie had eaten his long-awaited lunch and then returned to the plane to “finish” cracking the second code and to get caught up on the plan. The odd little guy was back with Kate, Gil and the pilot, explaining the frequency and the code phrase, convincing them that he hadn’t missed anything. Neal and Henry were still inside the plane.

Peter pounded on a door to the hangar with a half-empty bottle of Scotch. “Henry!” he yelled. “Henry Allen Winslow! I know you’re in there. I tracked your phone. Get your ass out here right now, or so help me I’ll shoot the lock off this door!”

Instead of opening the door he’d knocked on, they raised the massive door the plane would pass through. Gil and the pilot hung back with Mozzie. Kate approached Peter, taking care to look very innocent and bewildered. Her nose wrinkled as she couldn’t help but smell the Scotch Peter had purposely spilled on his suit. Before she could try to sweet talk him, Peter said, “Think he can get me fired? You tell Henry it’s time for a reckoning. Daddy’s here. Henry!” After yelling Henry’s name, Peter sneered at Kate. “I remember you. Saw you meeting Neal at that café last month when I was following him. You’re that tramp of a girlfriend of his. So he’s here, too.” He stepped forward with a speed and purposefulness that took Kate by surprise, grabbing her around the neck so that she stood in front of him like a human shield. He pulled out the special gun and pointed it at her. “Henry! Neal! You got ten seconds before I shoot Kate.”

The door to the plane opened. Gil seemed to be telling the pilot to let them pass, and Neal and Henry climbed down to the ground. While everyone else was distracted, Mozzie disappeared.

The pilot had the gun now, instead of Gil. Kate’s father was arguing and gesturing, obviously wanting the pilot to stop pointing the gun in Kate’s direction.

Kate went limp. To Gil and the pilot it would look like she had been choked into unconsciousness, but it was really the chloroform on Peter’s suit jacket sleeve that had knocked her out.   Gil stepped forward, but paused when Peter started yelling again. “Damn it, Caffrey! You’re worse than your old man. You turned my son against me, and no one I’ve sent has been able to kill you. Some jobs you have to do yourself.” He raised his gun and fired at Neal.

He should have hit Neal in the shoulder. That was the plan, and Peter had excellent aim. But it couldn’t be that simple. Henry had another plan in mind. He pushed Neal out of the way and the bullet hit him in the chest. Henry fell to the ground, a mass of red blossoming on his white shirt. His hands had reached toward the wound, but slipped away when he hit the ground. Neal knelt on the ground beside him, then looked desperately up at Gil. “Call 911!” he demanded.

The pilot had climbed into the plane and started the engine. He was taxiing out of the hangar.

“Wait!” Gil ran parallel to the plane, stopping beside Peter. “I know who you are. You’re Robert Winslow. Kate told me about Henry and a little about you when she was dating Neal. We’re not part of this. Just give me my daughter and we’re out of here. You can do whatever you want when we’re gone. We’re not telling anyone. We’re leaving the country and not coming back.”

The plane was outside the hangar now. Peter pressed the mechanism that lowered the overhead door, and told Gil to open the pedestrian door. With Gil outside, Peter shoved a reviving Kate into his arms, then closed and locked the door behind him. He watched through the window as Gil rushed toward the parked plane. Once he and Kate were inside, it headed for the runway.

Peter unlocked the door and let in Graham and Jones. Henry sat up, still holding his chest, and groaned. “Shouldn’t rubber bullets bounce?” he asked.

“It’s not exactly a rubber bullet,” Jones said. “It’s a dye pack that explodes when it makes impact.”

“It made an impact, alright,” Henry complained. “Knocked me over, knocked the breath out of me. Hell, I think…” He took a sharp breath as he tried to stand up, and Graham steadied him.

Peter returned the gun to Jones. “Take this back to the weapons supply, and take Neal with you. He can get started on the paperwork for this latest fiasco. Graham and I will take Henry to a hospital to check out his ribs.”

Neal looked unhappy, but to his credit he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming himself a little before he protested. “Peter, please. Let me go with you. I… He’s…”

“He’s going to be fine. Come here, Neal.” Peter stepped outside the hangar and around the side of the building for some privacy, and Neal followed. “It was barely two months ago that I found you in a warehouse with a two-bit thug pointing a gun at your head. And in the heat of the moment I threatened to fire you. It was a mistake, one I’m not going to repeat now, no matter how tempting it is.” Peter paced away a few steps and back again. “Damn it, Neal! After that incident you promised you’d think twice about taking these kind of crazy risks. You said you’d consider how it hurts the people who care about you. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, Peter, I –”

“Well, I have to say you don’t act like you remember it. Going off after criminals when you’re officially taking an afternoon off. Armed, desperate criminals. With no backup, no clear plan that I can see. What the hell were you thinking, Neal? Did you think I’d be ok with this?”

“No.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That it was ok as long as no one knew?”

“No.”

“I’m at a loss, then. What were you thinking?”

Hands in this pockets, eyes downcast, Neal said, “I was thinking I wanted a chance to say goodbye to the woman I loved.”

That gave Peter pause. After a moment he said, “Neal, I saw Kate when you met her at the café and here a few minutes ago. I didn’t see concern for you in her eyes either time.”

“I get it, Peter. She doesn’t love me. She’s too wrapped up in Adler to have feelings for anyone else. But it doesn’t change the fact that I loved her. I wanted… I needed closure.”

It was hard to keep railing at the kid when his voice held so much pain. “This isn’t over, Neal. I need to time to process it all, and then we’ll talk. I can’t let you slide on this. There have to be consequences.”

“Yes, sir.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

At home that night Peter slipped a microcassette into a player, but didn’t hit Play. He kept thinking back to earlier, at the hospital. While waiting for the results of the x-ray, Henry had contrived to send Graham away on an errand, leaving him alone with Peter. It had been tempting to give Henry hell, but it was clear he’d already gotten an earful from Graham, and he was still in some pain. As he put his ruined shirt and jacket back on, Henry handed Peter the watch. “Listen to the recording, Peter. All of it. You need to hear it before you take any rash actions toward Neal.”

Peter had slipped the watch into his pocket, knowing Jones could download the recording as soon as he got back to the Bureau. “I’ll listen to it,” he said.

“Promise you’ll look after Neal? I’m not going to be able to. Not for a while.”

“You going somewhere?”

Henry nodded. “Back home to Baltimore tonight. I’ll probably be packed and on my way before Neal gets home. The rest of the week I’ll wrap up things at Win-Win and then I’m gonna hit the road. I need to get away, think things through.” He shook his head. “Neal always says the stuff with his dad messed him up. And I knew he was right. I could see what it did to him. But I didn’t get it. Not really. Not until I learned the truth about Robert. Now I get why it made Neal run away. He needed to get away from everything.”

“And now that’s what you need?”

“Yeah,” Henry said.

“But he wasn’t alone,” Peter pointed out. “You were with him.”

Henry shrugged, then grunted as the gesture stretched the muscles over his ribs. “He was a kid. But it’s not just that. If I’m around Neal, I’ll automatically start acting like I’ve got everything under control. But I don’t. And I don’t think he’s ready to see that. That’s what went wrong today, Peter. He knows what I’m going through, knows how it can mess someone up. And he still trusted that I had it all together. But I didn’t. I missed things, and it all fell apart in that hangar because of it. Neal thinks I’m this genius hero.” Henry grinned. “And usually I am.” He let the smile slip and let his pain show. Not just the physical pain, but the emotional pain that wore him down. It showed in his face, in his slumped posture. “He thinks that he couldn’t cope when he was 18 because he was weak, because he was a kid. And he believes that I’m stronger.”

“You’re afraid of disappointing him.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth? Let him realize you need help, and then let him be there for you.”

“I think he deserves a break. He’s got a lot to deal with now. Not just the memories of being abused, but once things slow down, Byron’s death is going to hit him hard.”

“You have to stay in touch,” Peter insisted, “if you want him to take a break and deal with his own issues. That isn’t going to happen if you drop off the map. He’ll be worried and insist on finding you.”

Henry nodded and repeated, “Promise you’ll look after him?”

“I promise,” Peter said. Then Graham returned, followed by a doctor who said Henry had a couple of bruised ribs. The doctor prescribed a pain medication and rest, and then rushed off to the next patient.

And now, home in his living room, Peter pressed Play. He heard the parts he’d missed, when Neal and Henry first arrived at the hangar. He listened to the conversation he’d heard before, when they agreed that Win-Win should take over the Adler investigation. But this time instead of a period of silence, he heard a click.

_“Is it off?” Neal asked._

_“Yeah. It isn’t broadcasting anymore.”_ But it was still recording. Apparently Henry had known that, even if Neal didn’t.

_“Listen, I’m used to you holding back, adjusting the plan as you go. I trust you, man,” said Neal. “You know that. I’ve always followed your lead. But what the hell just happened? Did you have a plan at all?”_

_“There were some glitches,” Henry admitted._

_“More like gaping holes. You realize Peter is going to explode when this is over. He’s gonna say I’m too reckless and then chain me to my desk for a month.”_

_“He won’t do that,” Henry promised. “I’ll tell him it’s all my fault.”_

_“No. We don’t work like that. We never have. We’re in it together. It’s not like I’m some innocent kid you tricked into this situation. I followed you into this with my eyes open. I’ll take the punishment, whatever it is. Just get it together before the next time. When we…”_

And this time the recording really did stop. There had been something Henry didn’t want the FBI to hear. It picked up again where Peter remembered, and he pressed the Pause button. He checked his watch, and realized it wasn’t as late as he’d assumed. He was tired, worn out from the eventful day, but it wasn’t too late to call.

He mentally flipped a coin, and called Henry first. “You get home alright?” he asked when Henry answered.

“Yeah. Is everything… is Neal ok?

“Far as I know. I’m going to check on him next.”

“Did you listen to the recording?” Henry asked.

“Just got through the part that wasn’t broadcast. Sounds like another part was left out, though.”

“Nothing important. As long as you heard that it wasn’t Neal’s idea. He was worried about losing your trust. That’s important to him. If I jeopardized that, I’d… well, I couldn’t do that to him.”

“We’ll get through it. And tempting as it may be, I’m not going to chain him to his desk. I was thinking a little community service might be the right approach.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think he’s going to be frustrated that he can’t help out his big brother while you’re struggling. Might be good for him to help someone else. Pay it forward.”

“Makes sense. Can you wait until tomorrow afternoon to talk to him about it? I need to do some research, but I have an idea I think would work.”

Peter agreed, and wrapped up the call as it became apparent Henry had nothing more to say. Then he called Neal. “I’ve been talking to your cousin,” he said.

“Is everything… Is Henry ok?”

“Seems to be.”

“He didn’t say goodbye. He was already gone when I got home.”

“I think Graham got them an early flight.”

“Right,” Neal said. He waited a moment to add, “And he took your call? I’ve left him a couple of messages, but he didn’t get back to me.”

Peter was afraid of that. “He messed up today, Neal. Big time. He put his life and yours on the line, and he knows he almost lost. I don’t think he’s ready to face you yet.”

“He knows I’ll forgive him,” Neal protested. “Everyone makes mistakes, and I should have realized he had too much going on to just blindly follow him. I should have insisted on going over more details before we went into that hangar. But I still trust him.”

“That might be the problem. He doesn’t think you should trust him. Deserving your trust is a pressure he can’t handle right now, on top of everything else.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I think it will, if you give it time. That’s what he needs, Neal. Give him some time. You said you forgive him, but he isn’t ready to forgive himself.”

Peter could hear a door open, and the sound of traffic. Neal had walked out to the balcony. “So Robert gets what he wanted. Henry can’t stand to be around me.”

“He probably can’t stand to be around anyone right now. We barely spoke more than a minute before he wanted to hang up and be alone.” Peter stood up and walked out to his back porch. You couldn’t see the stars in the city, but he looked up at the moon. It gave him a sense of solidarity to know Neal was seeing the same thing. And he had a feeling that in Baltimore, Henry had retreated outdoors as well. “I know I don’t have Noelle’s degrees in therapy, but in this job you learn some things about guilt. There are the times you don’t solve the case, or don’t catch the bad guys, or don’t catch them before they hurt someone. There are times you feel like you let down a victim or another agent. It tears you up, and you start to question whether anyone should trust you again. You don’t snap out of something like that overnight, especially if the person you let down was a friend.”

“The more I try to contact him, the more pressure he feels,” Neal said. “You know, these concepts made sense when Henry was studying them to get his master’s. But in real life they suck.”

“Real life’s a bitch,” Peter agreed. He heard Neal’s snort, relieved that the kid could laugh even a little. “You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Back in the house, El stepped out of the kitchen with a mug of tea. Normally Peter didn’t go for tea, but after shivering on the porch, something warm without caffeine to keep him awake sounded very appealing. “I think I’ll have one of those,” he said.

“Peter, are you alright?” El asked, following him into the kitchen.

Peter thought about that as he programmed the microwave to heat a mug of water. He felt sad for Henry and Neal, for the pain they both felt. It wasn’t something that would go away soon, or that he could fix for them. He felt happy that he’d been able to talk to them, and help guide them in some small way. He felt pride that they confided in him. He tried describing the bittersweet combination, and faltered near the end, concerned that it sounded sappy. It was a relief to hear the microwave beep and retrieve his mug of steaming water.

El wrapped an arm around his waist. “You’re in the Dad zone.”

Peter nodded. The Dad zone was a good place to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The incident in January 2004 when Peter threatened to fire Neal was at the end of By the Book, a story before this one in the Caffrey Conversation AU.
> 
> In next week’s chapter, Noelle talks to Neal about what happened at the hangar. We’ll also encounter June and Sara again and touch on the father/son theme. I’m doing the final tweaks, but at this point I think I can wrap up everything for this story in one final chapter and then start outlining my next story in this series. Fortunately amazing beta reader Silbrith already has multiple stories written in this AU that she will start posting while I’m crafting my next story, so the weekly updates will continue while I take a break.


	32. Happy Ending

**Neal’s loft. Monday evening. March 8, 2004.**

Not long after Peter called, Neal’s cell phone rang again. This time it was his aunt Noelle.

“Hey, I’m sorry about the dinner plans,” Neal said. “I guess Graham decided Henry needed to get back to Baltimore.”

“Yes, I spoke to Graham when he returned from the hospital and I agreed it was best for Henry to go home. While we were packing he filled me in on the events at the airstrip.” She sounded stuffy, as if she had a cold. Or…

“Have you been crying? You know Henry’s ok, right? It was just a dye pack.” Neal glanced at the shirt Henry had left behind when he’d packed up this afternoon, the red dye now dried in place. It should probably go in the trash, unless he’d need it to pull off a con someday where he pretended he’d been shot.

“Graham said things didn’t go according to plan.”

It was tempting to mention there hadn’t been much of a plan, but Neal only said, “Once things fell apart and Peter got there, I thought the best way out was to make the pilot and Gil believe I was dead. Then they could leave without fear that I’d tell the FBI what I’d learned about their plans. The person in all of this who most wanted to kill me was Robert, so we had Peter impersonate him. It was all a con. Fake Robert, fake gun, fake bullets, fake death.”

“Do you have any idea what that plan did to your psyche? Not to mention Peter’s? You set up a scenario where your father figure had to shoot you. Peter must have hated that.”

Recalling what Peter had to say immediately afterward, Neal said, “Yeah, I got that. He went through with it, but he let me know he wasn’t thrilled about it. But I think we’re ok now.”

“We’ll see. You may have set yourself up for another round of nightmares.” She paused. “And Henry made it worse.”

“I think he decided to spare me the physical and emotional stress of being shot by Peter. I didn’t know Henry was going to jump in front of me. It was probably a last-minute decision.”

“And a poor decision. It makes me even more worried about him. Normally Henry would have realized that scenario was too close to what happened when you were a child, when the abuser who was supposed to be your father figure shot the man who was trying to rescue you.”

Neal hadn’t thought of it that way, but Noelle was right. Henry at his best would have considered the similarities and avoided making Neal relive that experience. It was another sign that Henry wasn’t holding things together. “Good thing we’ve already covered those memories, huh? It shouldn’t be as bad, now.”

“Unfortunately I’m still too upset by it all to think like a therapist. I can’t get into that mindset right now to tell you what to expect. And I came back to Baltimore before I realized how all of this might hit you.”

“Have you talked to Henry?” Neal asked.

“A little louder than talking,” Noelle said. “Fortunately airports are loud places. He took a painkiller before boarding the plane and slept most of the way home, so I had to stop yelling at him.”

“He’s still smart, even with everything going on. Are you going to yell at me?”

“Graham assured me that Peter took care of that.”

“Yeah, but Peter was too shaken by almost shooting me to give it his best effort. C’mon. You don’t want me to be jealous of Henry, do you?”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the call. “Neal, are you teasing me?”

“Mmm. Teasing, taunting, whatever.”

“The first time you talked to me as an adult, it was a phone call in January after Henry had been released from a hospital. You sounded terrified of me.”

Neal decided not to mention the call earlier that same day, when he had impersonated Henry. He’d been nervous then, too. “Yeah, but then you went and convinced me you love me. The terror is gone.”

“A _little_ terror might be nice right now. I was very upset, you know.”

He grinned. “You were, but not anymore. You’re smiling. I can hear it in your voice.”

She chuckled. “Did you manipulate your mother like this?”

“I didn’t suddenly wake up one day as a con artist after I ran away from home. It takes practice. Like you said, we both inherited Dressa’s acting talent.” He shrugged. “You sounded stressed when we first started talking tonight, and I thought I could get you to smile.”

“You did pick up quite a bit when you studied psychology with Henry. Well, let’s see if I can return the favor. Please sit down, Neal.”

Neal plopped down on the sofa as ordered but said, “I thought you couldn’t get into therapist mode right now.”

“I can’t, but I haven’t forgotten everything I learned. And Mom mode is a powerful thing, too. Now, take a deep breath and relax. Think back to when we were at the cabin. You had been sledding, and then you and Henry were having a snowball fight. Remember that?”

“Yeah. I was winning until he snuck around behind me.”

“You were happy.”

“Yeah.”

“Hold on to that. Not just now, but in the future. When you’re stressed or worried, remember that time, that joy and the trust that you were surrounded by people who loved you. Will you do that?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Now I want to add to that memory. While you were at the bottom of the hill, Elizabeth and I joined Peter. He was at the top of the hill, watching you and pleased to see you being happy. Peter asked my advice about what he should be doing, as your father figure. And then he spoke about something related to the time you were at Jacobi hospital. When you arrived you weren’t breathing on your own, and the doctor gave you a 50/50 chance of making it through the night. We took turns sitting with you in the ICU. And when we were talking at the top of that hill a few days ago, Peter described a recurring dream about that experience at Jacobi.”

“What was the dream?” Neal asked, expecting to hear a nightmare and wondering why Noelle wanted to add that to his memories.

“Peter said he dreams about the moment he noticed something had changed. Before he could understand what was happening to you, a nurse came in and told him you were starting to breathe on your own. And then he recalls how ecstatic he felt. And that’s all. He described it as a very short, but intense dream. He wondered what it meant, and I told him what I thought his subconscious was trying to tell him. What do you think it was telling him, Neal?”

“Well…” Neal thought back to the psychology texts and classes. This was like being in school again, and he realized he was experiencing Noelle the professor. He thought he knew the answer, but was almost afraid to say it out loud. “Being there for my first breaths, that was like witnessing a rebirth.”

“That’s right. And who is typically present for someone’s birth and first breaths?”

“Umm. The doctor. And the parents.” Neal felt his heart speeding up. He took a deep breath to calm down. “So Peter feels like my dad. But we already knew that.”

“Yes, we did. But you could say that at Jacobi, his mind caught up with his heart. He doesn’t simply feel like your father. Now he’s starting to think like a dad, too.” She paused. “I know it’s a subtle distinction, and mind versus heart isn’t standard psychological terminology, but let me put it this way: When Peter was faced with an influx of your family at Jacobi, he started to question his role in your life. He wondered if he belonged as your father figure when your biological family had arrived and embraced you. His dream is a declaration from his subconscious that he does belong in that role. And I noticed at your birthday party he didn’t seem at all uncomfortable taking part in a family event. He not only feels like a father figure, but is willing to claim that right. He doesn’t feel threatened in the role.”

Neal nodded. He could see the difference in his relationship with Peter. In January, Peter panicked and threatened to fire him for being reckless. Today, a more secure Peter had again been upset, but was more rational in his reaction.

“And how do you feel about that, Neal?”

“I… I’m glad he thinks of me that way, glad you told me. It feels good. Better than good.” He cleared his throat as the competing emotions threatened to swamp him. “And I’m sorry his only option today was to try to shoot me. I know he hated that. But it was the best plan I could think of.”

“I’m pleased to hear you’re sorry for putting him in that position. Did you tell Peter you’re sorry?”

Neal thought back over his recent conversations with Peter. “I guess not. He wasn’t exactly in listening mode at first, you know?”

“Yes, based on my conversation with Henry today I know exactly how challenging it was to get into listening mode. But Peter still needs to hear it. Will you tell him?”

“Yeah,” said Neal. “When I see him tomorrow I’ll apologize.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter called Neal early Tuesday morning to say he’d give him a ride to the Federal Building. He didn’t wait for Neal to accept the offer. When he arrived at the mansion he could tell that the staff had returned, but the maid who opened the door said June wouldn’t be back for a few more days.

Peter went upstairs, knocking on Neal’s door. When he answered he was missing shoes and jacket, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. No dishwasher, Peter realized. Breakfast dishes had been rinsed and set to dry on a towel. “You ok?” Peter asked. “Any nightmares?”

Neal turned away to rinse a juice glass. “One, but nothing like the stuff I experienced when my memories were returning. I didn’t have any trouble getting back to sleep.”

“Good,” said Peter. He glanced around the kitchen once more. “Don’t you normally have that cappuccino stuff in the morning?”

Neal chuckled. “Downstairs. We’ll grab some on the way out.” He put on his shoes and jacket. “Ready?”

“Actually, before we head out, we should talk.”

“Ok.” Neal sat at the dining table. “There’s something I wanted to say. I should have told you yesterday, and I hope you already know, but I’m sorry, Peter. I wish I could have thought of a better plan than asking you to shoot me. Even with the dye pack, I know it looked and felt a lot like a real shooting. If I could go back and do it over, I’d have thought things through more before going into that hangar in the first place.”

“You mean you wouldn’t have blindly followed Henry’s lead.”

“It wasn’t all his fault,” Neal insisted.

“Neal, I listened to the full recording, including the part after Henry said the watch wasn’t broadcasting. That was true, but it was still recording and he knew it. It was clear that most of the blame was his. You’re right that you should have asked more questions, but I should have, too. I jumped into the classic parental mistake of blaming the wrong kid.” Peter shook his head. “But I get the feeling that even if I had asked for your side of the story first, you’d have protected your big brother and let me think it was your fault.” Peter noticed Neal was distracted. “Neal, you with me?”

“It was still recording? Even when…” Neal trailed off.

“Even when you warned him about ‘next time’?” When Neal simply stared at him, Peter said, “So there’s something Henry has planned you don’t want me to know about. Truth is, he cut off the recording in the middle of your comment, but I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

Neal shook his head. “Peter, I promised.”

“You told me back at the cabin that you thought Henry was getting in over his head. I want to help, but you know I can’t if you keep me in the dark. The sooner you let me in on whatever he has going on, the better for all of us.” Seeing Neal wasn’t ready for that yet, Peter said, “But it was something else I wanted to tell you this morning. Thanks to the tracking device Henry left in the plane, we were able to trace its path over New York and lock onto it with satellite. It took the course Mozzie had described. It was over a remote area in Argentina when it exploded. There were witnesses on the ground who saw the explosion, but they were too far away to tell if there were parachutes. All we have are the accounts from an Argentinian news feed. And to convince Adler that we aren’t onto him, we can’t have any government agents poking around to see if Kate survived.”

“She survived,” Neal insisted.

Peter wasn’t so sure of that, but didn’t want to douse Neal’s hopes. The kid had been through enough recently. He changed the subject. “You remember Jones’ friend, George Knightley?”

“Yeah, hard to forget someone who saved my life.”

“Turns out that Highbury came through for him. He’s got an interview at the Donwell Institute. Jones says it looks like he’ll have a chance to help other people who’ve lost limbs.”

“A happy ending,” said Neal. “I hope it works out. He deserves it.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Tuesday was the most normal day Neal had spent at the FBI since he’d gone undercover at Enscombe. He was mentally on top of his game again, and easily eluded the poor agent assigned to him for Tuesday Tails. The paperwork on everything related to Highbury was wrapping up, and it was good to think about picking up a new case tomorrow.

On the drive back home that evening, Peter said, “Remember yesterday I said there’d be consequences?”

“I was starting to hope you’d forgotten about that.”

“No, it’s just that this isn’t an FBI-sanctioned consequence. This is a… Well, it’s a dad thing, I guess.”

Neal glanced at Peter. He didn’t look angry. But he did look smug, which was almost as bad. “You’re imposing a punishment as a dad?”

“I think of it as more of a life lesson, rather than a punishment.”

Neal braced himself. “What is it?”

“The next four Saturdays, you’re going to spend at least four hours volunteering at a runaway shelter.” Peter named a shelter and its address. It wasn’t too far from the arts district, where Neal normally went on weekends.

Neal didn’t particularly care for the reminder of his own time as a runaway. “Would you consider another suggestion?”

“No,” said Peter. “We need this.”

“We?” Neal repeated.

“Yeah, I’m volunteering, too. Henry said it would help me understand how desperate you were as a teen, so I can recognize the signs if you get desperate again.”

“I should have known this is Henry’s fault,” Neal said. “What’s his punishment?”

“He said he lost his company car.”

That seemed harsh, but perhaps not unexpected if he planned to take a leave of absence. Benefits and other pieces of corporate life were still a foreign language to Neal. Which reminded him… “You said we’re going to set goals for me soon?”

“Next week,” Peter confirmed as he made the turn onto Riverside Drive.

“I’ve done a good job with the Tuesday Tails. Everyone says they’re better at tailing suspects now than they were before I joined the team.”

“That’s true. We can definitely recognize your contribution there. You deserve credit for improving the team’s skills.”

“Improving everyone’s skills but mine,” Neal said. “Shouldn’t everyone on your team know how to tail suspects?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I’d like to reverse Tuesday Tails once each month. Give me a chance to practice tailing someone.”

“And let the team learn how to avoid a tail. That’s good.” Peter parked in front of the mansion. “I mean it, that’s really good. Wanting to master the skills for this job, and thinking of creative ways to do it… I’m proud of you, Neal.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

June returned home on Thursday, and that evening she presented Neal with a box and a key. The box was about twice the size of a shoe box, made of dark polished wood and adorned with elaborate brass fittings. The key was ornamental. It would have been easy to break into the box without it.

In fact, he raised a brow when June handed him the key, and she smiled. “Yes, I know. I can’t tell you how many times I was tempted to break into that box, but it was important to Byron and I left it alone.”

“And now?” Neal asked.

“He explained in his will what the box was for. I don’t need to open it now. He wanted you to have it, and he left you a message.” June handed him a CD. “He said there are many tracks, with messages for different occasions, and the first one is to tell you about the box.”

Neal stayed downstairs, talking to June about how she had spent the last two weeks, and making a vague reference to the fact that he’d spent a few days at a cabin in upstate New York. He gave more detail about his birthday party, thanking June for the storage space for his art.

She nodded and said, “I thought housing your art nearby would convince you I truly want you to stay here.”

June was still sad, and tired from the weight of grief. Neal soon went upstairs so she could rest, and he listened to the first track of the CD. Hearing Byron’s voice again brought on a wave of grief. He had missed their conversations, and it still hurt to be reminded that he wouldn’t be able to ask Byron’s advice or opinion again.

“It’s January 16,” Byron said. “Something happened at the FBI. You’re home early and doing a good job of hiding how upset you are. Could be anything, but it reminds me that I want to record some thoughts for you while I still can. I know how hard it can be, giving up the life. You probably think you’ll have it easier than I did, while you’re surrounded by FBI agents. But you’re also dealing with criminals and using your old skills against them. It could be a constant reminder of where you came from and what you gave up. Like I said, the con is a rush. It isn’t easy to give up, and sometimes the craving hits you when you least expect it.”

Neal would have preferred to hear that it had been easy for Byron, and would be easy for himself, too. But he appreciated the honesty and the time and effort Byron had put into leaving Neal this message.

“Fact is,” Byron continued, “there were plenty of times I thought about going back to my old ways, times when it seemed easier or more fun. I’d think about what I was risking if I ran another con, how I might spend years in prison and miss out on my girls growing up. But still I kept being tempted, and I wondered if I was making any progress at all. One day I was in a bar, trying to talk myself out of signing up for what a friend had described as the score of a lifetime… amazing how many times in a lifetime you hear that description, but each one got my heart racing… well, who should sit down beside me in that bar but a cop. Well, a PI actually, but the guy used to be a cop. Must be close to 30 years ago now. We got to talking about regrets. He said his wife had died nearly a decade ago, and he still had times he wondered how he was going to go on without her, or had a sudden, consuming wish he’d done something different while she was still alive. I couldn’t imagine life without June, and I asked him how he kept going. He said in the first year he started to keep track of the things he’d gotten through, to remind him that life went on. It started as a list, but then he’d make a note as something occurred to him, on a business card or a cocktail napkin or whatever, some kind of reminder of something he was glad he’d been alive to do, or proud he’d gotten through. He kept them in a box and sometimes, when he was feeling low, he’d open up that box and remind himself that he was doing good things, and that he was doing better than getting by.”

Neal unlocked the box as he listened, and it was filled with scraps of paper.

“I thought it was worth a try, and gave it a shot. I used a shoe box at first, but I decided my collection deserved something a little fancier. And that’s the box I asked June to give you. Take a look at the things I wrote down if you want. You’ll see a lot of it seems small now, but at the time they seemed like big steps. Then toss ‘em out. The box is yours now. Fill it with the things you’re getting through without resorting to crime. Let ‘em pile up and make you proud. They should remind you that you have the strength to keep on your new path. Wish I’d kept up with that PI. He gave me his business card. Years later I thought I should thank him, but figured he’d think I was crazy if I just called him out of the blue. I tossed the card into the box when I first got it. I don’t even remember the guy’s name anymore, but if you find the card maybe someday you can look him up and thank him for me. He might have some good advice for you, too.”

That was the end of the track. Neal stopped the CD and filled a glass of wine. Then he started reading the scraps of paper. Some seemed minor, some were touching, and some probably wouldn’t make sense to anyone other than Byron. Toward the bottom of the box, Neal found a business card, and assumed it was the one Byron had mentioned. “Graham Winslow. Investigator. Winston-Winslow.” Neal finished his wine and smiled. “You should have called him, Byron. He probably would have tried to recruit you.”

In the morning, Neal added the key for the box to his key chain. Throughout the day, when he saw or felt the key, it reminded him of Byron. There was comfort in knowing someone had succeeded at what Neal was just starting to do. Byron had turned his life around and thrived. The key seemed like a talisman to give Neal strength when he wondered if he could make it at the FBI, when he wondered if Kate was right to assume that he was a criminal at heart. With the recording of Kate saying that Neal hadn’t been in on Adler’s scheme, the team was accepting Neal again, but there could be more setbacks. As Peter had said when he recruited Neal, FBI agents were suspicious by nature. It wasn’t easy to gain their trust.

And being a good employee wasn’t always fun. Going into goal setting next week, he was going to need all the strength he could get. It didn’t sound fun at all.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

**March 13, 2004.**

On Saturday, Neal met Peter at the shelter. The son of a bricklayer, Peter had picked up carpentry skills growing up, and he was given a list of repairs needed throughout the building. Neal was assigned kitchen duty, starting a stew that would be served that evening, and helping put together sandwiches for kids who wandered in for lunch. He listened to their stories if they wanted to talk, but didn’t push them if they preferred silence.

After almost three hours, he heard a series of thumps and shouts from the room next door, and he rushed over to see what was happening. A redheaded woman about his age was giving the girls self-defense lessons. She seemed to have things under control, and he returned to the kitchen to serve another round of sandwiches. He’d forgotten how voraciously hungry teenagers could be. But some of the kids weren’t there to eat. They’d discovered a friendly ear and wanted to talk to a non-judgmental adult. He answered their questions about having run away from home himself, and how he’d ended up in a hospital when he didn’t take care of himself.

Soon other volunteers arrived for kitchen duty, and Neal moved upstairs to a bedroom that had been cleared for repainting. He opened a window and then started rolling a base coat of white primer onto the walls. It wasn’t like the painting he was used to doing, but it made him think about what it would be like to paint a mural. He wondered what his subject might be if he had a full wall to fill with a single work, and he was absorbed in considering options when a voice broke into his train of thought. A woman had said, “Henry?”

Neal turned around to see the redhead again. She had a brilliant smile, and looked and sounded excited to see Henry. Beneath the gray sweats she seemed attractive, but not familiar. In old jeans and a DePaul sweatshirt from the time Henry was getting his master’s in psychology, Neal wasn’t exactly looking his usual suave self. “Sorry. Not Henry.”

She stepped into the room. “Neal, right?”

Neal placed the paint roller down. “Have we met?”

“I guess that’s debatable. I stopped by Henry’s hotel about a week and a half ago. You were there, but you seemed out of it.” She held out a hand. “Sara Ellis.”

Neal shook her hand. “Neal Caffrey. How do you know Henry?”

“I work for him. Well, I did. Yesterday was my last day at Win-Win. I’m starting a job at Sterling-Bosch next week.” She looked around the room. One of the four walls was primed. “Do you have another roller?”

“I only found one. But if you have time I could use help taping off the trim before I start the other walls.”

Sara picked up the blue painter’s tape meant to cover the trim along the floor, window and door. “Are you sure you want to cover the trim? It looks like it needs painting as badly as the walls do.”

“Mmm,” Neal said absently as he picked up the roller again. “They have a different paint for the trim.”

“Ok.” Sara started working around the door. “You know you do look a lot like Henry. When I first saw you I’d have guessed you’re brothers, but everyone at Win-Win knows Henry’s an only child.”

“Right.” Neal stepped back from the wall to see if he’d missed any spots. “Did he send you here, too?”

Sara paused with a strip of blue tape in her hands. “Yes, that’s why I thought he might be here when I saw you. He knows about my obsession with runaways, and before I left Win-Win he suggested I come here when I had a free Saturday.”

“Why are you obsessed with runaways?” Neal asked.

“When I was 13 my older sister ran away. I’ve always been filled with questions about that. Why did she go? Where did she go? Is she ok?”

“Win-Win couldn’t find the answers for you?”

“They traced her to New York City, but then nothing. It was 12 years ago. I know the chances of finding her are slim-to-none, but volunteering with current runaways… It makes me feel less helpless. I can hope that someone was here to help when Emily needed them.” She put the tape in place and tore off another strip. “You said _too_. Henry sent you here?”

“You could say he caused me to be sent here.” They fell into silence while Neal finished the second wall and Sara completed taping around the trim of the third wall. When Neal stepped away from the second wall and decided it was good, he looked back at Sara. “You probably noticed that Henry’s a multitasker. He probably had more in mind than doing you a favor and annoying me when he sent us here.”

Sara turned around to face Neal. “You think he meant for us to meet?”

Neal nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised. He might think I could help with your obsession. Not with finding your sister – if Win-Win couldn’t find her I don’t think I could. But he might have wanted you to meet someone who ran away and… Well, someone who couldn’t go home but had a happy ending.”

“You were a runaway?” Sara sounded surprised. “And now you’re an FBI agent?”

“Consultant,” Neal corrected. He dipped the roller in the paint pan and got to work on the third wall. “If you don’t get busy I’m going to be ready to prime that last wall before you have it taped.”

Sara worked in silence, and Neal guessed she was deciding whether to ask first about his experiences as a runaway or at the FBI. She surprised him by saying, “You’re right about Henry. And I have to say, if he went to the trouble to arrange for us to meet here, he probably thought I could help you with something, too.”

“Yeah, I thought of that, but I think he’s off base there.”

“How about you let me have a say in that?”

Neal turned around to face her, placing the roller on the pan so his hands were free. “It’s a little embarrassing, to be honest. I think you’d be happier not knowing.”

Sara stood up to be at his level. “That only makes me more curious about what you think he has in mind.” Neal raised his hands and was moments away from running them through his hair when Sara grabbed his wrists. “You have some paint, right here.” She ran a finger along his thumb. “Unless you’re going for a Pepe Le Pew look, you’d better stop.”

Neal wiped his hands on his jeans, which bore splashes of paint from his previous painting endeavors. “Thanks. The thing is, I’ve been kind of hung up on someone. My ex. She’s gone now. Seriously gone. Fled the country and faked-her-death-to-escape-the-authorities gone.”

“As in FBI authorities?”

“Yeah. It was complicated. I met her under an alias and it turned out the alias was her type and I wasn’t. The whole fleeing the country thing was a few days ago. Henry knows I’m hurting over that. But he never really liked her and I’m sure he wants me to move on. But that’s not… I mean you’re not…”

“I’m not your type?” Sara asked.

“No. I’m not your type. I mean, I heard your voice when you thought I was Henry. He doesn’t date anyone at Win-Win, but now that you’ve left the company you could have a shot with him, and… It sounded like that’s what you want.”

Sara studied him a moment. “That’s very noble of you,” she said, and then returned to taping the fourth wall.

“He’s my best friend, and you… well, you seem like a great person. I wouldn’t want him to lose out on someone like you, just because he doesn’t know you’re into him.” He picked up the roller again to finish priming the third wall. Working around the window required concentration and he took his time.

After working in silence a few minutes, Sara said, “I’m flattered you think Henry meant for us to get involved romantically, but I think you’re overlooking the obvious.”

Neal stopped painting. “What’s that?”

“I sounded happy to see Henry because I’m new to an enormous, amazing city where I know almost no one. And it sounds like you could use a sympathetic ear right now. What if he thought we could each use a friend?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After hours of repairing and building shelves in the basement, Peter went upstairs to the kitchen in search of Neal. The volunteers there said he’d gone upstairs, and Peter went up two more levels before he finally found Neal and a stunning redhead laughing in a bedroom whose walls glistened with wet paint. Neal was closing a paint can, and the redhead was picking up other painting supplies.

“Alright, hotshot,” said the redhead. “You think you could come up with something better than a collage of Warner Brothers’ cartoons? What would you give these kids as a mural?”

“I spent some time upstate recently and was blown away by the views, so I’d start with a mountain landscape.” Neal looked up at the largest blank wall, and gestured broadly with his hands. Peter could almost imagine the sweeping brush strokes as he spoke. “Not dark greens and browns. A subtle forest, draped in snow and ice so that it doesn’t jump out at you the moment you enter the room. Instead it should draw you in, making you hunt for the details. And then you’d notice that hidden in the woods is a city. The tree trunks that first appear to be covered in ice, are actually silver skyscrapers. And a constellation and moon in the sky would actually be an outline of the Statue of Liberty and her torch. Think a faerie version of New York. Edmund Spenser meets the modern era. I’d call it _Best of Both Worlds_.” He trailed off, seeming lost in his vision.

Peter stepped into the room. “Hi, I’m Peter Burke. I work with Neal.”

The redhead stood up to shake his hand. “Sara Ellis.” She glanced toward Neal. “He said he works at the FBI, but I have to say he sounds more like an artist.”

“We work in the White Collar Crimes Division. If we were in DC, I’d steer Neal toward Art Crimes.”

Neal shook his head and stood up. “Wow. It’s been a while since I got that absorbed in an idea. Heading out, Peter?”

Peter nodded. “I was checking to see if you wanted a ride. But if you’re busy,” he glanced meaningfully at Sara, “that’s fine.”

“Just let me get cleaned up.” Neal turned to Sara, holding up his paint-splattered arms. “You probably don’t want to touch me right now, but we’ll catch up later.”

“Nice meeting you, Neal.”

In his car a few minutes later, Peter shook his head at Neal. “I’m sorry I interrupted you up there.”

Neal looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you were getting to know Sara. You could have said you’d catch a cab, you know. You didn’t have to leave because I was on my way out.”

“You don’t think… I’m really not…”

“She seemed nice,” Peter said, determined to get through this even though it felt awkward. “I know you weren’t dating while you hoped things might work out with Kate, and you’re probably out of practice, but you need to open your eyes, Neal. Sara was having fun with you there, today. You should spend some time with her, get to know her. Start small. Ask her out for coffee.”

“Is that what you’d do?” Neal asked.

Peter thought back to when he’d finally asked Elizabeth out, and how long he’d danced around it before finally letting her know he was interested. It had been painful, but well worth it. And he liked the glimpse he’d seen of Neal with Sara today: happy, laughing, letting his guard down. This wasn’t the distant worship of a vision of a too-good-to-be-true Kate, but a give-and-take with a real woman. It reminded Peter of what he had with El, and he’d like to see Neal have something similar. “Yeah, that’s what I’d do.”

“Well, I guess I could call her and change our plans, if you think coffee is best. We were going to meet for lunch tomorrow. But I don’t want to move too fast.”

Peter looked over to see Neal grinning. “You couldn’t have told me that before I started giving you dating advice?”

Neal laughed. “It was such a dad moment. I had to hear where you’d take it. Anyway, it isn’t really a date. Sara knows I’m still getting over someone. We’re friends, for now. We’ll see where it goes.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

**March 14, 2004.**

It wasn’t a date, but Neal spent longer than usual picking out exactly what to wear. He finally decided the fedora wasn’t too much, and met Sara in front of the building that housed Highbury Professional Connections. She wore a peacock blue dress that looked great on her.

“This looks upscale for not-a-date,” Sara said.

“Are you up for an adventure?” Neal asked. “Because I can get us both a free lunch if you’re willing to play along. All you have to do is call me Nick Halden.”

“And who is Nick Halden?”

“He’s a job seeker who joined Highbury and paid for a month’s membership. And that membership comes with one free lunch per month for a member and his guest.” Neal opened the door to the building. “The FBI paid for the membership, and I went undercover as Nick to catch a blackmailer. Might as well get that free lunch, right?”

Sara was pensive as they entered the lobby. After Neal pressed the up button for the elevator she said, “I wasn’t going to mention Henry today because I want to make sure you’re clear I’m not fixated on him, and I’m not using you as a substitute for him, but I have to ask: are you related? I know you aren’t his brother, but sometimes you look and sound so much like him. I could easily imagine him saying what you did about the free lunch.”

“We’re cousins. Our moms were identical twins.”

“So biologically you’re almost like half-brothers.”

The elevator arrived and they stepped inside. Neal selected the floor for Highbury. “I guess so. Turns out our dads had a lot in common, too.”

“Robert was a piece of work, wasn’t he? Have they determined if he’s the one who placed the bomb in Henry’s car?”

“Bomb?”

Sara looked up at Neal. “You didn’t know? God, I’m so sorry. He’s fine, Neal. His car was parked at a marina in Delaware, and it exploded Monday morning when a windstorm rocked the car. No one was inside, and no one was hurt.”

“That’s what he meant when he said he lost the company car.” He hated that Henry hadn’t told him about this. Neal would definitely ask Peter what they could find out about that explosion. The elevator stopped and they got out at Highbury. “No one’s found Robert yet. But he can’t hide forever.”

“And now you look as grim as I would expect an FBI agent… consultant,” she corrected before Neal could speak, “to look. I’m sorry, Neal. I promise, Win-Win is off the table for lunch today. All conversation will remain light and trivial.”

They were shown to a quiet alcove where they enjoyed an exquisite lunch and light banter. They were reviewing a dessert menu and negotiating what they might be willing to share when career counselor Wendy Bates approached the table. “Mr. Halden! Mr. Halden, yes, so good to see you again. Things have been in such an uproar. You know Mr. Dixon and Mr. Churchill were arrested? Well of course you do, you were scheduled to be at Enscombe when the FBI raided the offices. So shocking. We’re being reorganized, and it’s been very disconcerting. When I learned you were here I looked up your file and realized no one told you.” She handed Neal a folded sheet of paper. “We matched your resume and the feedback from our counselors to our career database. We found a very promising match.” She fluttered away when the waitress arrived to take their dessert order, and Neal put the paper aside.

“Aren’t you going to look?” Sara asked.

“This is a match for Nick Halden. His resume was a work of fiction. And the FBI is where I belong.”

“Oh, come on. This is like ignoring a fortune cookie. I can’t take it.” Sara unfolded the paper and read it. Her look of surprise melted into a mysterious smile.

“What?”

“Did you by any chance base Nick Halden on the cousin we agreed we wouldn’t talk about?”

Neal shrugged. “I didn’t think so. Why?” He took the paper when Sara handed it over. The top recommendation was that he should contact Winston-Winslow. The contact number listed was one he recognized: Graham Winslow’s personal cell phone. Neal shook his head. “Graham knew I was undercover as Nick. This has his fingerprints all over it, metaphorically speaking.”

“It’s good to be wanted,” Sara said.

Neal smiled, thinking of the time not too long ago when he’d been wanted as a criminal. What he had now was a big improvement over those days. He raised his glass. “Here’s to being wanted.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last weekend when I posted chapter 31, it was the one-year anniversary of when I posted my first story about White Collar. It’s hard to believe the resulting AU has exceeded 250K words and that we have now reached the end of Flashback. Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have. Seeing your feedback for new chapters on Mondays and throughout each week has certainly brightened my days the last few months.
> 
> FYI, I’m not planning to bring back Kate. I’ll leave it up to each individual reader to decide whether or not she escaped the plane before the explosion. You can imagine the fate you want her to have. Also, Mozzie took the passports Adler had made for Neal when he left the hangar. I don’t know yet what he’ll do with them, but a passport and fake ID could certainly come in handy someday…
> 
> I’m going to take a few weeks off to refresh my mind and then will outline my next big story in this AU, tentatively titled Caffrey Disclosure. The plan is to start posting chapters around the end of November or early December. Among other things, that story will include the hunt for Robert Winslow, and further disclosures by Neal to Peter about how he and Henry stayed off the radar when they were younger and trying to hide from Robert. The main case will involve a corrupt executive in the music industry. If you have suggestions or requests, let me know. No promises to fit everything into the next story, but I’d like to hear what you want. You never know when a request might inspire a scene or even a one-shot individual story.
> 
> Meanwhile, my magnificent beta reader Silbrith has been writing stories in this AU and will start posting on October 23. She has several stories already completed and will be posting on Thursdays. I hope you’ll check out her stories, starting with Complications, which sets up a fascinating direction for Neal. It’s so much fun that I’m barely restraining myself from giving spoilers.


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